A Spark of Color
by Chalybeous
Summary: His existence had been a world of white and black, right and wrong, him and everyone else. Until he met her. Not only was she a riot of color in his drab life, but she showed him there were shades of gray between his black and white. And perhaps, if he dared, he might find out that not only could he dream, he could live. Fenris/Male Hawke, Fenris/Female OC
1. Hello, Kitten

**A/N: a little explanation. This is a Dragon Age 2 fanfic, and will take place generally over the course of that game. I will allude to certain quests, and maybe write in one or two if they are relevant to my OC's story. However, my OC, Hrodwynn, is not Hawke (did you see that one coming? I didn't. Wish someone would've told me…). She has her own life, her own background, and her own troubles. And Fenris gets caught up in them ;D**

**Chapter One**

Fenris was leaning against the side of the building, one leg cocked, the foot planted flatly against the rough stone. His arms were crossed, but that in no way meant he wasn't ready to fight, to attack or defend himself. Not that he had to do either at the moment, the shadows concealing all but his white hair, and even that looked gray in the black night.

His face was cast downward, but his eyes were lifted up, flickering side to side beneath his black eyebrows, taking in every passerby through his unruly bangs. He watched the people, mostly elves here in the Lowtown Alienage, bustle past his little nook after performing their last-minute business for the day, more intent on getting home than on seeing the danger lurking in the shadows. And there was danger—there was always danger—besides him. There was another hunter prowling the streets.

He turned his head towards a shadow of movement, but it was only a banner fluttering in the breeze. His movement caused a persistent, nagging twinge to come to the forefront of his thoughts. It was a rare occurrence, as agony had been his only, constant companion for… well, for as long as he could remember. He carefully rolled his shoulder, still sore after he had landed funny on it while diving through an open window. It had been a few days ago, and most of the other hurts from that night were gone, but that one ache remained.

As did that one hunter captain.

He had gotten word that there was information regarding his past, sealed in a cargo chest hidden away here in the Alienage. It was obviously a trap, so he had hired a dwarf to find someone suitable to spring the trap. So far, Anso hadn't been able to find anyone foolish enough, or capable enough, to cause a distraction for the hunters, and time was running out. Fenris could not hide forever, nor did he want to—he wanted it over!

But could it ever be over for a former slave?

A gentle rain began to fall, more like a heavy mist or fog rolling in off the sea. It sank into the streets, saturating the air, softening the ground into mud, cooling the spring night into a brief flashback of winter. Perfect, he thought to himself, as the misting rain obscured even more of his surroundings. It may conceal the hunter from his eyes, but it also concealed him from the hunter. All that could be made out was movement, brief and indistinct, caught in the golden halos around the guttering torches.

And anyone who moved, would either be the hunter captain and his men, or those hired to be the distraction. Fenris would not move, waiting and biding his time until after the trap was sprung, after the hunters were engaged. Then he would turn the tables and kill the hunters. Until then, he would wait, silent as a shadow, for as surely as he was watching…

…so was the hunter.

* * *

><p>She stood in front of the dwarf, a smile on her lips as she batted her bright green eyes, a stark contrast to the paleness of her skin. "I heard you got a big job, big guy." The mist that had been falling all evening tapered off as midnight approached, and she was glad to be able to lower her hood and let the breeze ruffle her thick, dark red hair. She brushed a lock back behind an ear, trying to look coy. "And that it involves a Siggerdson."<p>

The dwarf rolled his eyes and sighed, "Of course, Hrodwynn, that would interest you." He pinched the bridge of his nose and said flatly, "No."

"No?" she repeated with mock indignation. "Ah, come on, Anso, you know you're gonna give me the job. Who else do you know can handle a lock like that?" She picked up some miscellaneous item off his counter and began fingering it. It was a small box full of gears and cogs, with a crank on the side that wound a spring.

He plucked the gizmo from her and set it back down, fearful that she'd have the item in pieces inside of ten seconds. Then he put his heavy hand on her chest and shoved her back, gently. He did like the girl, after all, which is why he couldn't give her the contract. "I know you can handle the lock, sweetie, but you can't handle the haul."

A smattering of laughter erupted behind her, and was just as quickly stifled. She turned to see three men approaching, specifically, two human men and a dwarf man. Her eyes narrowed and one hand strayed towards her hip, conveniently near a dagger at the small of her back. The dwarf looked harmless enough, bare cheeked and smiling, which instantly put her on guard; besides, he looked like he had been the one who laughed. At her.

The two humans, well, they were neatly dressed, for Lowtown, anyway. One wore the standard issue of some sort of soldier, sleeveless padded leather tunic and bracers. He had a youthful face, strong and eager to prove himself, which struck a resonating chord within her. The other was older, similar in coloring, wearing scarlet attire a little too rich and well kept for Lowtown. His black hair was mussed, windblown, but artfully so—considering his beard was meticulously groomed, a stark contrast to the mess. All were armed, the dwarf with a crossbow, the younger human with a two-handed greatsword, and the older with a long staff that ended in a wicked-looking mace.

"Something amuses you?" she asked, eyeing all three with as much menace as she could muster.

The older human scoffed, rolling his eyes and almost—almost!—yawning. "We're not here to talk with you, little girl. We're here to talk with Anso."

"What can I help you with, good sirs," Anso purred, essentially dismissing Hrodwynn from the conversation.

"We heard you had a job," the older one spoke again. Hrodwynn was really beginning to hate him. "Something to do with some… misplaced… property."

"Yes, well," Anso looked at Hrodwynn, who was making no move to walk away, "I, ah…"

"Is… she… already hired for the job?" the older asked again, thumbing over towards her.

"'She'," responded the girl, "Has a name."

"Well, since I don't know your name, I can't use it, can I?" he fired back at her.

Hrodwynn had the impulse to stick out her tongue, but barely managed to keep herself from doing so. Instead she huffed and let her hand stray back a little closer to her dagger. "I was…"

"Well, 'was' implies past tense," he interrupted. "'Now', we are. What do you say, Anso? Who gets the job?"

Maker, but she wanted to gut him in the street. Anso, however, was talking. "Well, good sirs, I am looking for someone who can retrieve some… misplaced… property for me. You see, I had hired some workers to… shall we say… see to it that some merchandise made it through customs without paperwork."

"You were smuggling," the older almost sighed. "What kind of property?"

"Ah, well, valuable property, of course, and, ah…"

"Illegal?" the older supplied.

"Yes, well, it's not actually for me, good sirs, but my client, who's getting very impatient. Templars can be so unreasonable."

"Let me guess: you're smuggling lyrium for the Templars!"

"Templars? That's just bloody great," groused the younger. "This isn't something we want to get involved in, is it."

It wasn't so much a question, as a statement. Hrodwynn was beginning to think she should back out, too, at this point. The last thing she needed was to get involved with the Templars, or any kind of authority. But the promised reward was too tempting. And the chance to crack a Siggerdson… Maker, that would help her reputation.

"Look, I know it sounds tricky, but you don't have to deal with my client, just me. Get the goods from the chest, a small hovel down in the Alienage. Bring them back here, and you'll get paid."

"What chest?" the dwarf asked his first question. Hrodwynn looked at him askance, still not liking him.

"Ah, um, er…" Anso shot a guilty glance at Hrodwynn. She resisted the urge to smile as she waited for him to answer. "A locked chest."

The other dwarf harrumphed, "I can handle a lock."

"Not this one," Hrodwynn argued. If these three were considering stealing her contract, she'd muscle her way into their little troupe, damn it!

"There are very few locks that I can't…"

"It's a Siggerdson," she interrupted. The dwarf was immediately silenced.

"What's a Siggerdson?" the younger asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"It's a Silverite reinforced, double-hinged chest, with a Fexter lock on a three dial system." The dwarf gave a low whistle as she finished, "Oh, and Glitterdust gas traps that go off if tampering is detected."

The dwarf looked up at the older human. "I can't break that, Hawke."

"I can," she boasted, "Blindfolded."

The older, Hawke, scoffed at this, but Anso cleared his throat. "She's, ah, she's right, good sirs," he sounded disappointed, even reluctant, but he was giving her an opening and she intended to use it. "The lyrium is being kept within a Siggerdson locked chest. Hrodwynn here is the only one I know who even has a chance of opening it." He looked to her, his eyes almost apologetic, as he finished, "You four will need to team up, Hrodwynn to pick the lock, the three of you to haul the lyrium back here."

"Glad that's settled, then," she lifted her eyes and dared Hawke to defy her.

"And now we've taken up babysitting."

She had stood there and watched him say it, watched those dry and taunting words slip from his lips. Her hand strayed up to her hip again, far too close to that dagger. The next moment, however, the dwarf was sticking his hand in front of her chest and waiting for her to take it. "We should probably introduce ourselves. The bearded one is Garrett Hawke, the other one's Carver Hawke." She took his hand, letting go of the idea of taking out her dagger—at least for now. "And I'm Varric."

Hrodwynn felt her jaw drop. "You're Varric? I thought you'd be less… ah… likable."

"What do you mean?" he asked, looking confused.

"Well," she floundered for a moment, "It's just that, everyone I've heard talk about you, either praises your morals, or calls you some fairly insulting names, usually after you've refused any underhanded dealing. Figured you'd have to be ugly, if they spoke so highly of your personality."

Varric gave out a guffaw. "You know, I like her spunk."

"So do I," agreed Carver, "She's cute, I mean, it's cute, her spunk." He rubbed at the side of his nose, his hand covering the half of his face nearer her.

Hawke sighed, giving him a less than tolerant expression, "Carver, if you want something cute, I'll buy you a kitten. It'll be less of a fuss."

Hrodwynn made to take a step towards him, and a hand towards her dagger, but found her way blocked and her hand held by Varric. "What do you say, we start for this chest, huh? The sooner we start, the sooner the job's done. And the night won't last forever."

She let go of the breath she'd been holding, giving his hand one final shake. "Hrodwynn."

"What?" Carver asked, seeing as Hawke had already started walking away, obviously feeling himself the leader of their little troupe.

"My name; it's Hrodwynn."

"I've heard of you, too," Varric fell into step on her other side. It seems they were both content to let Hawke lead the way, and their obvious deference rankled on her nerves. After all, what had Hawke done to prove himself?

At least, what had he done to prove himself to her?

"I'm glad we've made your acquaintance tonight. Been looking forward to bumping into you, actually…"

"Hrodwynn! Wait a moment!" Anso called from behind them.

Hawke didn't miss a step, didn't even turn around as he said, "We're not waiting for you. Catch up, or go home."

Her eyes narrowed again, her fist itching to smack into his face. Carver gave an apologetic cough, but he continued to follow Hawke. She gave in at last to that impulse to stick out her tongue, before jogging back to Anso. He was a friend, at least. Besides, she knew where the job was better than Hawke did, which he'd figure out sooner or later. Then he'd have to wait for her. "What is it?" she asked sullenly, not willing to admit she was unwilling to let them get too far ahead of her.

Anso acted like he hadn't even noticed her surliness. "If you get the chance," he said quietly, "Run."

"Run?"

"Run. I… ah… don't like the look of these three. Don't trust them."

She smiled a little cockily, "I trust them," she pecked his bearded cheek, "Just like I trust you: to be true to your nature. Bye."

She turned away so fast, she never saw the look of concern cross his features.

She had been right; Hawke didn't know where exactly in the Alienage to find the chest. He'd also been too proud to admit it, stating simply for Hrodwynn to go ahead and 'do her thing' like it was some fucking slight-of-hand or trick. She smirked, letting him know she knew, but didn't say anything as she walked into the right house. Carver—his brother? A relative, at any rate—hid another smile and a chuckle behind his hand. She was beginning to like him. At least he didn't laugh at her like the dwarf had. Still, Varric had a reputation, a good one, and she knew his laughter wasn't meant unkindly.

This Hawke, however, was another story, she thought to herself as she tramped though the empty rooms towards the one that held the smugglers' chest. Arrogant, pig-headed, stubborn, full-of-himself… "Son of a bitch!"

"What is it?" Varric asked, coming to peer over her shoulder.

"It's not a Siggerdson," she said, standing still and facing the chest sitting dusty and forgotten in a corner. She lifted the lid and slammed it down again. "It's not even locked. It's empty!"

"But the house isn't," Carver muttered, hearing sounds coming from another room. He unsheathed the greatsword from his back as he ran to meet whoever was there. No less than ten men and women faced them, each of them armed to the teeth.

She pulled out her dagger in her right hand and a short sword from over her shoulder for her left hand. Shit, she thought, a fight. Worse, a trap. Why the fuck would Anso want them to walk into a trap?

That was all the time she had to think, the next several moments lost within a flurry of movement, dodging, slicing, rolling, stabbing, ducking, screaming…

By the time she came to her senses, it was over—thankfully. Her chest heaving, she turned on the spot, looking around for someone still standing.

"Easy, kitten," Varric's voice soothed her, his hand reaching out with the fingers spread non-threateningly. "It's over now." He eyed her sword and dagger, but relaxed when her arms moved to hang loosely at her sides. "You hurt?"

"I…" she started, not really sure if she was alright, not really sure how to check. She swallowed, "I think so…"

…she had used her short sword to block one man's attack, pushing his arm away while she sliced his wrist, giving Hawke the chance to hit him with some sort of lightning spell…

…she had ducked beneath a swing and knelt behind another, slicing at the backs of his knees and ankles, distracting him so that Carver could run him through with his sword…

…she had battered at a woman, stabbing at her armored chest and backing her into a position where Varric could riddle her with bolts from his crossbow…

…and she had turned into the arms of another, a boy hardly older than herself and no more experienced, and plunged her dagger into his neck. She looked down at her hand, shaking in the lantern light, the skin stained pink, the sleeve of her tunic soaked around her wrist, now cold with dampness.

She hurtled away from the others and towards a corner. The next few moments were taken up with her stomach emptying. Yet Hawke's voice penetrated through the sounds of her retching, "Did I call it? Babysitting."

"Shut up," Carver sighed. His steps were sure as he walked up to Hrodwynn, though his hands weren't as he set them on her shoulders, mindful of her weapons still in her hands. "Ah, Hrodwynn? Fight's over. You can put your blades away now."

She looked at her weapons, her hands shaking, her stomach cramping. The dagger was coated in red past the hilt, the sword with only a few splotches. When she went to wipe them off, she realized she had nothing to use to clean them. Even looking at her clothing, her dark leggings were spotted with suspicious stains. She pulled a corner of her tunic out of her waistband and used that to wipe the worst bits off. Thankfully her hands were shaking less as she sheathed her weapons, or she might have nicked herself.

Carver sighed and slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Come on, let's get some fresh air. It'll do you good." He steered her towards the door, Varric walking on her other side, Hawke striding before them like going outside had been his idea. She couldn't care less, wanting nothing more than to get the taste of sick out of her mouth. Fresh air wouldn't do that, but it would help clear her nostrils of the metallic scent of blood and acidic scent of bile.

No sooner had they left the hovel, than another group of soldiers surrounded them. Hrodwynn took a better look this time at their attire, and recognized, "Slavers…?"

"Stay behind us," Carver said, letting go of her shoulders to step forward and draw his sword. Varric was already pulling out his crossbow, positioning himself in front of her. Though broader, she was still taller and could clearly see how many they faced.

She swallowed, trying to ignore the cramping of her stomach and the cold sweat that burst out all over her, making her palms sweat. She had to tighten her grip to keep from dropping her sword, but she wasn't about to make them have to protect her. She was going to earn her share, damn it, and not give the arrogant Hawke an excuse to deny her any of the money.

This fight went on for longer, the area larger and the numbers more. Hrodwynn fought hard, trying not to think, trying not to notice the growing number of corpses. During one part of the fight, Carver had beheaded someone who was sneaking up behind her. She returned the favor not two moments later, when someone else was about to hit Carver with a spell from his staff. She knocked the staff away with a kick, and drove her dagger into his hand for good measure. He started to curse but broke off suddenly, her sword back-handing across his throat.

It was messy, as she wasn't trained on how to fight, but the sheer number of enemies meant she had to at least try. The others were capable, however, more than capable as she watched the man about to cleave her in two fall over dead. Hawke appeared, having caved in the side of his head with the wicked-looking mace end of his staff. He flashed her a look, a little too condescending for her tastes, but turned away without a word to fight the next person.

She noted absently that he didn't have any blood or gore on his fancy clothing. The ass.

She was out of breath by the time the fight was over, bent over again with her hands on her knees, gulping in huge lungfuls of air. Varric approached her first again, taking hold of her elbow. "Any of that blood yours, kitten?"

She wanted to bark at him, to tell him to stop calling her that, but his voice was so gentle and sincere she only shook her head. "I… don't think so…"

"When you're done re-tossing your cookies, we should get moving," Hawke said drolly, "Never a good idea to hang around corpses."

Varric was holding her head, or she might have said something that time. The dwarf's fingers dug through her dark red hair, tugging to keep her facing him, making sure there were no bumps or bruises. "Skull's fine. You should have that cut on your shin looked at, though."

She glanced down and saw the fabric of her leggings ripped, blood oozing from what looked like a welt or abrasion. She vaguely remembered the side of someone's boot scraping down the front of her leg, and crying out with pain and anger and seeing nothing but red…

After several dry heaves, she stood back up and wiped the back of her hand across her lips.

"Finally!" Hawke harrumphed. "Let's get going. I want to talk with Anso about this…"

She was wiping her hand off on her backside, her eyes shooting daggers at the git, when yet another soldier confronted them. Maker, this was a bad night. No wonder Anso had told her to run…

She wanted to pursue that thought, beginning to think there might have been a better reason why Anso gave her such advice, but then the most remarkable thing happened. Someone stepped out from around a corner behind this latest soldier, or captain, or bounty hunter… whatever the fuck he was. She didn't care about the captain; her eyes were locked on the new person, an elf, male, tall and lanky and clad in skin-tight armor, with the most mesmerizing tattoos or war paint or… some sort of markings. The elf strolled with such bravado right past the captain and addressed their little troupe. He seemed unconcerned that this hunter was armed and now at his unprotected back.

Hrodwynn saw the hunter draw his weapon. She was going to cry out a warning. Hawke, too, looked as if he was about to take a step forward. But the elf turned, his markings flared, lighting the courtyard into day, showing through his armor and clothing…

And his hand and forearm passed straight through the hunter's chest.


	2. Agreggio Pavali

**A/N: though I've written fan fiction before (if you've followed me here from Skyrim, hi! *waves spastically at the computer screen*), I'm new to Dragon Age II, and I'm still on my first play through, so I'll probably make mistakes and mess stuff up. Don't get mad, just let me know so I can fix it. Thank you XD**

**Also, I tend to write long chapters (like 7,000 to 9,000 words long), but I'm trying to keep them shorter this time around. Yeah, right—we'll see how long that lasts ;D**

**Chapter Two: Agreggio Pavali**

Hrodwynn wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but she did want to listen in on the conversation. Actually she, Carver and Varric were standing back a ways, all three of them going through the motions of looking at various nicks and scrapes they'd gotten during all the fighting, all three of them listening intently to the conversation between Fenris and Hawke.

Fenris was… well… unique. And he seemed willing to speak with Hawke, even though the guy was a git. The other three strained their ears, only speaking distractedly to each other in hushed tones, as Fenris tiredly let go of whatever meager information on himself he was willing to impart. It wasn't much, but hearing of his distrust of mages—alright, his outright hatred—made Hrodwynn smirk. Briefly. Carver was looking at her nose just then, so it might've passed for a grimace. Really.

When he spoke of how his former master wanted the lyrium back, preferably over his dead body, Hawke remarked on how that would be a waste of a perfectly handsome elf… and Hrodwynn nearly choked. Not that Fenris wasn't handsome—she wasn't sure… he was… different… intriguing… mysterious… something! No, she didn't choke because of Fenris' looks; she choked because she finally figured Hawke out. The neatly trimmed beard, the artfully mussed hair, the fussiness with his clothing…

She just happened to be looking at Carver when he said that, and saw his brows scrunch down a little—so he didn't approve of his older brother's taste in bedmates. Well, that could explain some of the animosity between them. She supposed she didn't really care who—or what—Hawke slept with, as long as she got her fair share from tonight.

Fenris left and Carver went to go talk with Hawke, so she stayed next to Varric. Her mind must've wandered, because suddenly Hawke was standing over her, almost making her jump. "Hey," his hand was on her shoulder, turning her to face him, Varric moving a little bit away.

"What?" she sniffed, holding her hand to her face. The nosebleed had finally slowed, but it still throbbed like a son-of-a-bitch. She really didn't want to deal with Hawke's condescending and snide remarks, not when her eyes were watering. But his hand wouldn't let her get away.

"Listen, you… you fought pretty well… back there," he nodded at the mansion. "I'd, well, I'd like to work with you again, sometime, perhaps."

She sniffed again, a little less clogged, and nodded. "Sure, fine, sounds good."

"Where can I find you?"

"Ah…" she blinked, thinking quickly. Usually she'd tell him to leave word with Anso, but the snake had set her up for that ambush. Well, it wasn't like she could really blame him, but damn it she had almost gotten killed! She was a thief, a rogue, a lock picker—NOT a fighter.

Yet he had tried not to give her the job. And he had warned her to run. And she only had herself to blame, that she had stuck around and tried to help. Anso was a snake, sure, but that was his nature. He did whatever he could for his clients; just so happened that this time she wasn't his client. Fenris had been. She refused the impulse to look over her shoulder at the mansion which the strange elf had just entered.

"Leave word with Anso," she sighed, "I check in with him for jobs and the like."

Hawke's brow furrowed a little, "You still trust him? After he let us walk into that ambush?"

Hrodwynn gave her head a nod, and regretted it as it made her nose throb worse than before. He saw her wince, and pulled her hand away to look at the damage. Long, gentle fingers probed at the bridge of her nose, making her stutter as she answered, "He… ow… he usually finds good jobs… ow… for me. I kinda pushed my way into this… ouch!… this one."

"Why?" he asked, sounding exasperated. "You were in over your head, you know."

"I thought the job was to break a Siggerdson lock, not be bait in a trap. Stop touching it!"

He pulled his hand back before she could smack him a second time. "It doesn't look broken, if you're worried about that. But you should have it looked at by a healer, just to be sure."

She kept herself from rolling her eyes at the obvious statement. "I know someone I can go to."

"Good," he said, and looked at Carver who made a continuing sort of motion with his hand. "Good, well, we found some reasonable loot in the mansion. I suppose you could come by the Hanged Man, say, the day after tomorrow," he looked at the dawn about to break over the horizon, "Or should I say, tomorrow afternoon for your share? Varric's got a room there; just ask for him."

She nodded, thinking there was no way he was going to hand over her 'fair share' of last night's take. Well, at least he made the gesture, however hollow. She felt her purse at her side; she should have enough for the time being.

"I'll probably be in the main part of the tavern by that time," Varric added, "Drinking. Look for me there; I'll buy the first round."

And just like that her mood flipped. Maybe she would get her money after all, if Varric was going to have anything to say about it. She smiled at him. It was a little garish, half-dried blood over the lower part of her face, her white teeth shining in the predawn light. "Looking forward to it." She had been in the Hanged Man a few times, and kicked out right away every time. Ah, well, maybe sitting with Varric she could manage a sip or two before the barkeeper ran her off for being too young.

Yup, the night hadn't been a complete loss. Sure, she hadn't broken into a Siggerdson like she wanted, something that would have elevated her reputation to legendary status. But at least she was going to get something out of this. She caught Carver's eye, and asked, "You'll be there, too?" At his mute nod, she winked, "Then I'll be sure to see you tomorrow afternoon." He gave her a timid smile, but Hawke was already leaving and he had to break it off quickly.

The three left, talking as they walked away, turning a corner and leaving her sight. She supposed she should leave, too; a nice long nap was sounding perfectly wonderful right then. But in looking back at the mansion one last time, she saw something she had missed earlier thanks to the night and the shadows. With the first rays of sunlight, she could now see a long smudge of something dark on the wall where Fenris had been leaning.

Blood.

Checking the ground near his footprints, she found more drips and drops.

Damn, no wonder Fenris had been so exhausted during his conversation with Hawke. And he had not once spoken about his own injuries or pain. She squinted at the doorway of the mansion; though it was firmly closed, it held only a standard issue lock. Well, that wasn't going to stop her.

* * *

><p>Fenris was tired. His body screamed for rest, yet he felt anything but confident sleeping so soon after a fight, and in his enemy's home.<p>

Truthfully, he supposed it wasn't Danarius' mansion, usurped from some other noble for the duration of his short visit to Kirkwall. However, his former master had walked this very floor, between these very walls. He could almost hear the bastard's voice, the sound of his footfalls coming up behind him, feel his hands touching him…

Fenris paced on as if he could pace away from those memories. He stalked through the rooms, searching for anything Danarius might have left behind, or anything of value overlooked by that mercenary Hawke and his companions. They had taken the choicest items, something Fenris didn't begrudge as he had no money of his own to pay them their promised fee. He did hope, however, that there would be something left for him to sell. He didn't know how long he would have until the next group of bounty hunters came for him, and a body needed food and drink to survive.

After several hours he was in the cellar, up to his elbows in a partially unpacked crate. Nestled inside the straw he found several bottles of Agreggio Pavali. He pulled one out, staring at it like a poor man stares at an uncut diamond. The drink was rare, expensive, and there were enough bottles to fetch him a heavy purse. He didn't think he'd sell the bottles, however, at least not all of them. Pavali had been Danarius' favorite drink. A flash of memory returned to him, a kiss they had shared late one night after a party. Even though Fenris had been made to entertain first the guests and then the master, the lingering burning ache didn't keep him from smelling the alcohol on Danarius' breath, tasting it on his lips. Fenris had stolen the taste, savored it in his own mouth—and that moment was when his first selfish desire bloomed to life. He wanted to taste it someday, taste it for himself, have the sweetly strong liquid stain his lips, fill his mouth, thicken and swell his parched throat…

He found himself upstairs a short while later, rifling through the rubbish in the master suite for anything that might resemble a drinking vessel. He shoved an overturned chair out of the way, and that annoying twinge in his shoulder returned. Suddenly his vision blurred, the bottle slipped from his fingers, but only fell a short distance. He looked stupidly at the bottle, rolling away from him across the floor, and numbly wondered how he had ended up on his knees.

The bottle came to rest beneath a foot, tilted up at an angle to stop its progress. Fenris looked at the boot, and then looked at the leg coming out of the boot, thin and long and covered in dark leggings. He followed the leg up to find a bright green tunic, a festive color that made his eyes want to hurt it looked so alive. He lifted his gaze higher, and saw a familiar face. Forcing away the fatigue, he let out a small grunt as he gained his feet.

"I… ah… hope you don't mind, but I let myself in…" the girl gestured vaguely behind her, taking her cloak off her shoulders.

He waved off her concern, apparently not upset that she had invited herself into his 'home,' nor that she seemed intent on staying. "You're one of Hawke's friends, aren't you?" he asked. "I don't remember your name…"

"Hrodwynn," she supplied. Her bright green eyes—a perfect match for the tunic—blinked at him, and for a moment she was the one staring stupidly.

"I should say something like, 'pleased to meet you, Hrodwynn,' shouldn't I?" He walked up to her, his steps slow, his posture alert despite his fatigue. "But I'm afraid I haven't much practice with social courtesies." She didn't flinch as his gauntleted hand reached up to push a lock of dark red hair back behind her ear. He told himself it was only to look at the cut she'd gotten earlier during the fight, the cut she'd gotten from the blow that had bloodied her nose.

The cut she'd gotten when she had stepped up behind him and blocked a swing that would have cloven through his spine.

"How's the nose?"

She sniffed, blinked, and seemed to come back to herself. "It's, ah, not broken, thanks for asking," she answered. He watched as two bright pink splotches of color stained the pale skin of her cheeks. She was a funny little girl, quirky and spry and full of spunk, but loyal and determined, as he recalled from the comments that flew between her and Hawke shortly after the fight in the Alienage. She hadn't signed up for a fight, but she wasn't going to back out just because things got bloody. He found himself admiring her courage. "Mind if I use your fireplace?" she pointed off to the side, but for some reason didn't turn away. He though it might be because his gauntleted hand was still at the side of her face, and she was concerned about hurting herself on the talon-like tips of his fingers.

"For what?" he asked, taking his hand away, his gravely voice deepening further. Though he didn't mind the company, he didn't want her to think she would be welcomed here, at any time of day or night, when more hunters could come for him at any moment. Too much danger for such an innocent to get herself wrapped up in.

"Well, ah, I brought a few things, for, well, any injuries you might have." Truthfully, the salves and sutures and herbs had been free, but the little bit of food had emptied out her meager coin purse. It would be worth it, however, if she could trust Hawke to pay her tomorrow.

If she could trust Varric, actually. That dwarf had a good reputation, and if he worked with Hawke, then at the very least he'd see that she got her fair share, even if Hawke had been disinclined to include her on last night's contract. And that Carver fellow, too, seemed like an upstanding sort of guy. She tried not to think of them as she knelt beside the cold hearth Fenris had gestured towards, focusing instead on setting out all the things she had bought from that healer in Darktown. Fenris was hurt, now, and needed her help, because she was damn sure no one else had noticed his injuries, even himself.

He watched her for a few moments, curious and admittedly a little fascinated, as she started pulling items from her pack. She set out little folded packets of herbs, potent ones if his nose did not deceive him. There were also a couple of small jars, a folded leather pouch that reminded him of… old unpleasantness. Next came a loaf of bread and something encased in paper that looked like it had juices soaking through the wrapper. Still she continued, until the entire sack had been emptied and lay, rumpled and currently unneeded, by her cloak.

"I said," she stood up, the movement attracting his wandering thoughts, "Do you have any firewood?"

He gave himself a little shake; she had been talking this whole time, and he couldn't remember a word of it. He must be more tired than he thought if he was losing focus. When was the last time he'd slept? "No, that is, I don't know."

She nodded to herself, looking around for something suitable. "I suppose you'll want to save those papers, in case they say where this Danarius has gone. I'll just use the wardrobe over there, seeing as it's in splinters anyway." She kicked and stomped at the wood, prying off piece after piece, until she had a fair-sized load in her arms. "Have you found anything useful, like a flint?" she asked as she set up the wood in the fireplace.

He shook his head, "I haven't found much of use here other than that bottle."

She had continued to focus on starting a fire while he answered. Finding a low burning lantern on the mantle, she lit a smaller splinter in the flame, using that to start the fire. When the flames were catching onto the larger pieces, she turned her attention towards the bottle. She had set the Pavali down on a small table, and as she looked at it her dark red eyebrows drew into a frown. She made a little hum, like she was thinking to herself, before giving a half-hearted shrug. "I suppose it couldn't hurt. Might even help dull the pain."

"Pain?" he asked. He was having far too much trouble following her. He felt that keenly when she turned back to him, a look on her face like she was addressing a backwards child.

"You're hurt, Fenris, and bleeding. Didn't you notice it?" She studied the remarkable elf before her. Sure, he had been a slave, and she supposed he hadn't noticed he was hurting because he was no stranger to pain. But he had to be blind not to see the trail of red drops he left all through the mansion. She watched his eyes, a dull green that seemed cold and already faded from this life, and slightly out of focus as he stared at her face. Perhaps that was it: he was in shock from his injuries. Well, she had brought medicine that would help with that, too.

He didn't answer her question, or couldn't, either way she didn't feel disappointed. Instead she pointed to a low couch in front of the fire and said, "Sit."

He obeyed her unquestioningly, taking a seat exactly where she had pointed, his posture perfect and his face blank. It gave her a bit of concern. Either he was too exhausted to think or argue with her, or he realized that she was right and he was in need of her help—or he was still used to being a slave and doing whatever an authoritative voice commanded. She pushed away that last thought and grabbed the Pavali. After casting about for a cup, and not finding one besides what she had brought for the medicinal tea, she finally decided just to uncork the wine or brandy or whatever it was and hand him the bottle. "Take a healthy swig."

He took it from her, stared at it a moment, and then raised it in a toast. "Benefaris."

Hrodwynn couldn't help herself, watching as he tipped his head back, the mouth of the bottle pressed against his pursed lips, his eyes falling half closed as his larynx bobbed. He had an unusual expression on his face, a strange mixture of longing and expectation and desire and fulfillment. She had no idea what was going through his mind, and after a moment she realized she probably wouldn't want to know.

After his third swallow, he lowered the bottle to the couch at his side and made a funny sort of sound. The corner of his mouth twitched, his black brows curved and his eyes staring into the fireplace. She didn't think the alcohol would hit him that hard that fast, but he definitely had the look of someone who was lost in his thoughts. She knelt in front of him between his legs and began working on removing his armor.

His first taste… his first real taste… had been everything he had hoped it would be, and nothing like what he had imagined. The Pavali was thick and heavy in his mouth, seeming to swell and expand though he knew it was only because he had tried to swallow an oversized mouthful. The fumes swept up the back of his throat and invaded his sinuses, but he resisted the impulse to sneeze. The liquor hit his empty stomach and burned, a delicious pain that he could savor—the pain of a free man, one who could drink what he wanted, whenever he wanted, and not have to steal it from his master's lips.

He came out of his musings at the first tug, and was amazed to find the girl kneeling before him. He lifted questioning eyes to hers, but she didn't answer, other than continuing to pull at his gauntlets, mindful of the sharp claw-like tips on his fingers. Next came the belt; she could feel his eyes burning into the top of her head as she undid the buckle just off-center of his front. When she lifted his arm to work on the fastening for his cuirass, he finally let out a reaction. The hiss was short, surprising both of them she thought, but at least he wasn't so far gone that he couldn't feel pain.

She moved more carefully after that, working from the other side. His eyes followed her, still questioning, still unanswered. It was a bit of a struggle, for her to lift the strange cuirass off his shoulders without stabbing herself on the pointy bits, or making him have to move his hurt shoulder. At last, though, she finally had the armor removed; all that remained between her and the wound was his tunic.

Her fingers trembled a little as she started on those fastenings, not sure whether or not he would allow her to remove it. She felt like she was trying to help a wounded animal, something used to being caged and beaten, and now that it was free of the cage, it was also free to distrust. She swallowed her fear and unease, the sound of her nervous gulp loud in the chamber, but he thankfully made no comment.

When she had bared his torso, she found herself fascinated once more by the strange markings. She had the impulse to touch them, to trace them with her fingers, to memorize their curves and lines, their circles and tips. They seemed to be everywhere, inscribing some secret meaning into his very flesh. But the wound just to the side of his shoulder blade was an angry red and festering. Setting aside the tunic, she reached over for a few of the items she had prepared earlier.

He saw her pick up that small parcel wrapped in leather. He watched her closely as she unwrapped it, revealing exactly what he thought would be inside—knives and tweezers and a small needle… He could remember similar items in Danarius' hands, being used to cause pain, to cut and rip and injure. His eyes must have showed something of his thoughts, because when he looked up at her, he saw her smiling at him reassuringly. Just a small smile, hardly there before it was gone. Then, implements in hand, she moved out of his sight behind his back.

He leaned forwards, his elbows on his thighs, as she went to work. Yes, there was pain, there was always pain. Pain infused his very being every waking—and sleeping—moment of his life. This pain was different, localized, precise, clean. He could almost picture it, one of her hands pressed to his fevered skin, the other holding the small-bladed knife, cutting through infected tissue, slicing further into the wound to get at the source of the pain. The tweezers were next, digging around, grabbing hold of something, tugging, pulling, a soft curse falling from her lips as she lost whatever it was, and then pulling again, long and slow and final.

It came out with her small exhale of triumph, and she dropped the wooden splinter still clutched by the tweezers onto the couch beside him. When had he gotten that? Thinking back, he realized it had been from that night, the last time the bounty hunter had cornered him, after he had jumped through a window. He must've been shot as he jumped, and the roll across the floor had broken off the wooden bolt, but left a splinter from the shaft buried in his back.

He became aware of the fact that she hadn't moved, that she was still standing behind him, one hand laying cool against his sweaty skin, part of her fingers brushing one of the markings. Her light touch was as painful as a burn, but without the scarring. No, the scars were already there, in the form of those marks, and just as permanent.

He supposed he should explain some of it, how he could walk around with a splinter from a bolt in his back and not know it. He felt her pull away, and for a moment he feared she had gotten tired of his stoic silence—and why should that matter to him? Then she returned, rinsed his wound and began applying a numbing salve against the edges.

"The markings on my skin," he began, not sure what he was saying or why, but wanting to fill the silence between them, wanting her to understand, wanting to find out if she would pity him as others had. "The lyrium. It was not only painful having them put into my flesh, but they continue to leave me in agony. It never ceases, and worsens when the markings are touched, if you had been wondering how I could have not known of that," he nodded to the splinter.

Now it had come, the moment of truth: would she pity him? Would she be disgusted by him?

Would she continue to treat him as a person?

Hrodwynn was barely holding it together. She fought the trembling in her fingers as she finished stitching the wound closed. She blinked away the tears before they could fall. She swallowed the lump in her throat before it could choke her voice. Fenris was proud; she had been able to tell that from the beginning. He did not tell her this to garner her pity.

"You should have someone take the stitches out in a week or so," she said, when she was fairly sure she could speak normally. "In the meantime, try not to get shot in the back again. Or if you do," she pressed a soothing poultice over the wound and began winding bandages around his chest to hold it in place, "Find someone to dig it out right away. There are some herbs here, to fight off any fever or infection. I'd suggest going to a healer, but that takes money, which—I'm just guessing—you don't have." Like hell was she going to suggest going to a mage for healing, even Hawke, after hearing how what Danarius had done to him left him in such continual pain. His hatred and distrust of mages made perfect sense.

Fenris looked over his shoulder at her, and got a hand in his face forcing him to look straight once more. "Don't twist like that; you'll mess me up."

He smiled, on some level appreciating the way she scolded him. No, she wasn't going to treat him any differently. He relaxed a little, not realizing how tense he had become, and allowed her to finish her ministrations.

"You should have something to eat, before you fall asleep," her chiding voice made him blink his eyes open. He hadn't realized he had almost dozed off, sitting on the couch, still leaning forwards as she tied off the bandage. He twisted again to look over his shoulder at her, following her as she walked around the couch and returned to the fire. The paper-wrapped package with the stains of gravy had been warming on a plate. She brought it to him, opening the envelope and letting the steam escape. Several slices of roast beef were inside, well seasoned and stewing in their own juices. He accepted the plate and attacked the food, eating it like his name implied, without any utensils. Hunger urged him to lick his fingers, too jealous to waste even the smallest drop of gravy.

She passed over a cup of medicinal tea and the loaf of bread, both of which were finished off in a similar fashion. Again Hrodwynn got the impression of a wild animal, accepting the help and food, but still not trusting, not giving, not sharing.

That wasn't quite true—he had shared with her about his pain from the markings. It had been something personal, something he no doubt didn't trust just anyone with knowing about him. But he had trusted her.

She saw that he was looking at her strangely, his pale green eyes staring into her bright green, giving her the feeling that he was trying to leach the color and life from her, or maybe use her liveliness to replenish his spent spirit. She lifted her chin a little, leaned away a little, and gave a little cough. "You should probably rest now."

He didn't answer, feeling strange. He wasn't sure if it was something in the salve she had used, or the medicine she made him take, or the Pavali he had drunk earlier, but a very pleasant warmth was spreading through his limbs—almost drowning out the unpleasant sensations. She was sitting next to him, then standing, then taking his hands, then pulling him to his feet. He stood before her, looking down on her looking up at him, and had to speak. "How old are you?"

A blush stole back across her cheeks again, a lovely color on her pale skin. She was so full of color, the dark red of her hair, the bright green of her eyes, the white of her skin, the pink of her blush, the red of her lips. He could kiss those lips, thick and soft and inviting, and it would be because it was something he wanted, not because another had willed it. Yet when the moment came for him to lean forwards, he found he couldn't move.

"Old enough," she said, her voice gentle to his ears. It took him a moment before he remembered what the question had been, and another moment to see that she was pulling away. No, he was turning away, or she was turning him away, her hands careful to touch his markings as minimally as possible. The bed was before him, with a real mattress that wasn't stuffed with straw, with thick and soft bedclothes. He wanted to pull away, thinking of how Danarius had slept on that bed… but then the animal in him wanted to sleep there, wanted to mark that territory now for his own. He took another swig from the bottle—how had it gotten back into his hand?—and sat down on the edge of the bed.

She wanted to ask him if he'd be alright now on his own, but she wasn't sure if he'd hear her, much less not be offended by her concern. She watched him tip the bottle back again, his eyes getting that faraway look to them once more, and instead asked, "What are you thinking of?"

He pulled the bottle away from his lips, filling his vision with her face. She was still standing, leaning over him, her hair falling forwards over her shoulders. He could kiss her now, his hand reaching up to cup her shoulder, wanting to climb higher to her neck, to pull her the rest of the way down…

And her first kiss, like his had been, would be of Pavali-tainted breath.

"Venhedis," his deep voice sighed, and he watched the little furrow of confusion grow between her eyebrows. No, he wouldn't do to her—or to anyone—what had been done to him. His hand on her shoulder gave her a gentle shove. When she staggered back a step, his other hand threw the bottle against the wall, the liquor exploding with the shards, bursting outwards in a strange, haphazard pattern. Exhausted, he laid down on the bed. "You should go now."

She took another step back, fighting the shock and the cringe after the thrown bottle, though the confusion was too strong to simply wipe away. Had he… had he been about to kiss her? She thought so, having seen that look before in a man's eyes. But then… what in the world had stopped him? It wasn't like she would have refused him, would she? She thought back over her actions, trying to think if she had given him the wrong impression, then trying to think what was the impression she had wanted to give him. She had come uninvited into his home, halfway undressed him, tended his injuries, fed him, took him to bed…

She supposed he had a right to feel confusion, too, and to change his mind regarding kissing her. Truly she hadn't meant to act so… brazen, but what else could he think after all her actions tonight? Her gaze returned to his form on the bed, his eyes closed already in repose, his dark brows softening from their guarded slant to a somewhat… less reserved… curve. Perhaps she could blame it on the alcohol, if he ever asked her of this.

She pulled a blanket over his form, picked up her empty sack and cloak, and closed the door behind her as she quietly left.


	3. Tepid Brew

**A/N: just a quickie to say thank you for Following and Favoriting *gushes***

**P.S. I don't know why my Hawke is such an asshole, but I'm loving the idea and running with it like a kid with a pair of really sharp scissors XP**

**Chapter Three: Tepid Brew**

The Hanged Man wasn't as exciting as Hrodwynn had led herself to believe. It was hot, stuffy, and smelled of the worst sort of filth and uncleanliness she had ever encountered. And that was saying something for a girl who lived in Darktown. There were piles in the corners where the stuff had been pushed out of the way, and stains on the wooden floor and tables where it hadn't been pushed away fast enough. She supposed that's why everyone drank themselves into a stupor, so they wouldn't continue to smell the piss and vomit and… she didn't want to think what else.

She had trouble with the noise, too. The patrons had had plenty of time for drinking already, and they seemed to have to increase the volume of their voices with the level of their drunkenness. There were a lot of people in the tavern—enough so that, by the time she arrived in the late afternoon, she was almost palpably hit with a wall of noise as soon as she opened the door.

Pushing through the crowd, she quickly spied Carver and Varric sitting at a table with three women. There was no sign of Hawke, but she hid her disappointment—she had tried coming a little later, hoping he would be there and she could just get her money and leave. But seeing how Carver was smiling up at her, and Varric gesturing a welcome grandly with his arms, she decided she could sit and wait for Hawke.

"Kitten! Glad you could join us. I was beginning to worry about you," Varric beamed at her, his face a little flushed.

"I, ah," she hedged, fighting her own battle to keep the pink off her cheeks—though for very different reasons—as she slid down on the bench next to Carver. "I had something else to… do today… that took longer than I thought… it would." Yup, that sounded lame to her ears, but it seemed no one else noticed. Varric waved the excuse aside and began pointing out the others, starting with the woman sitting at the end of the table, on the other side of Carver.

"Let's get you introduced to everyone. We'll start with Isabela. Captain of the…"

"Former Captain, if you don't mind," she interrupted before taking a large swig from her mug.

"Right, excuse me. Formerly of the Siren's Call. That was a pirate ship, in case you hadn't heard of it." His whisper was so loud, she was sure the whole tavern had been able to hear it. Fortunately, no one took notice of their conversation. Even Isabela seemed unconcerned over her 'former' illegal profession being bantered around.

"Next we have Aveline," Varric sighed, indicating the woman between himself and Isabela. He reached an arm out of sight behind her back, and something he did made her jump and elbow him in the side. He was laughing as he finished, "The Captain of the City Guard."

"Oh, she has a pirate ship, too?" the third woman asked, sitting at the other end of the table from Isabela. She was holding her mug to her face, her voice echoing inside the clay vessel.

Carver and Isabela laughed, Aveline sighed, and Varric shook his head sadly, "No, Daisy, the City Guard what patrols the city. This is Merrill, by the way, a Dalish Mage we've sort of picked up."

"Pleased to meet you," she hiccoughed, holding out her hand. Hrodwynn took it, smiling warmly and liking the silly elf from the start.

"Everyone, this is Hrodwynn, a little rogue after my own heart. Can pick a Siggerdson lock blindfolded, or so she claims."

"Interesting," hummed Isabela, a crafty look sparking in her eyes.

"I don't need to hear this," moaned Aveline, making the former pirate laugh. "Where's Hawke? He should have been here hours ago. I can't spend all day waiting for him before we discuss…"

"He said he had a stop to make on his way here," broke in Carver. By the surliness of his tone, he wasn't happy over wherever his brother had gone. "Excuse me, but I'm going to refill my mug. Anyone else up for another round?"

"Me!" agreed Varric, taking a moment to pick up his mug and down it in one go. "Since you offered to buy."

Carver rolled his eyes, but took the mug. "Anyone else? You, Hrodwynn?"

"Oh, ah," she hesitated for only half a heartbeat, "Sure, whatever you're having."

Aveline's eyebrow rose up in a motherly manner, but Isabela hid her smirk behind her mug. "So," the Rivain said as soon as Carver had gone to order the next round. Leaning forward, her ample bosom nearly spilled out onto the table top, momentarily distracting Varric. "Hrodwynn, is it? Sounds Ferelden. I take it the 'H' is silent?"

Hrodwynn had no idea what Isabela was talking about. "Suppose so," she muttered, feeling like everyone was staring at her. "Never gave it much thought, but sometimes it's quiet, sometimes it's not." She felt her cheeks burning, wondering why Varric's eyebrows scrunched and Aveline's stern look softened. Damn, but she hated this feeling, like there was something she was supposed to know, but she couldn't figure out what. It made her feel backwards and stupid, and she knew she was smart—how many others could crack a Siggerdson—but a silent 'aich' was beyond her.

Maybe she meant ache? Ache's didn't make a noise, but you sometimes did when you had an ache. She kept her mouth shut, however, letting the others think what they wanted, Isabela sensing her discomfort and changing the subject.

Maker, but this was getting uncomfortable. She thought about leaving, but she had yet to get paid. Besides, Carver was here, and he was pleasant to be around, even if his brother was an arse. She glanced off to the side, where Carver was gesturing to their table and arguing with the bartender. Apparently she wasn't going to be served, again. Oh, well, at least she had been allowed to stay this time. She was about to get up and tell Carver to forget the drink, when he said the name 'Hawke' loudly enough to reach the table. Apparently he won the argument, as the bartender grudgingly filled a third mug.

Her blush was still fairly pink when he returned with the three mugs, one of which had been under-poured. She accepted it without comment, took a sip of the brew and barely managed to swallow. She didn't find it as appetizing as she had thought it would be, tepid and watered down. But it was the thought that counted, the thought that she was included in their diverse group, and—for one evening at least—she actually felt accepted, even somewhat… happy…? As the evening wore on she sat, one hand wrapped around the clay vessel, the other propping up her chin, smiling and listening to Varric tell stories of how each of them had met.

The dwarf was a natural storyteller.

The tavern was getting crowded, which meant it was getting noisier, and Hrodwynn found herself leaning in closer to Carver to hear better. Then Hawke walked in. She supposed that wasn't surprising, since apparently everyone was there to meet him for some reason or another, but his companion made everyone take notice—everyone in the tavern. Even Hrodwynn found herself staring as a slightly aloof and unsocial Fenris strode uneasily up to their table.

"Everyone?" Hawke called out to them, but she was sure the whole tavern was watching. He seemed to realize this, too, and added a little more flamboyantly, "This is my new friend, Fenris. Everyone say hi," he prompted. After the chorus of greetings rose from the table, he slapped Fenris on the shoulder, the same one that had the wound, and Hrodwynn thought she saw a slight grimace cross his features.

Fenris was taken aback at first; being so readily accepted by strangers was something new to him. He remembered enough of his manners to nod an acknowledgement of their welcome. He stole a glance at Hawke, to get some hint or clue on what to do next, but Hawke had taken a seat between Varric and Aveline, his head bent close to the dwarf's in a private conversation. He was apparently on his own.

Looking around the table, he saw quite an array of characters. The Rivain was certainly eye-catching, matching the description Hawke had given him. Actually Hawke had described everyone to him on their way here, because he wanted Fenris to join them on some adventure and had tried to make sure he didn't feel unwelcome or lost upon his introduction. He hadn't mentioned that Hrodwynn would be here, however, which surprised him as he was fairly sure the two didn't like each other.

Suddenly realizing he was standing there, staring at everyone, and probably acting fairly rude, he took the closest available seat, right next to the young, brightly colored girl. She was wearing yet another tunic tonight, this one a dark red that nearly matched her hair. As he sat she wiggled to the side, freeing up a little more space on the bench.

Hrodwynn didn't want Fenris to think she was moving away from him, just making room for him, so she shifted over just a little. The table was already crowded, however, so she couldn't go too far. Carver sitting on her other side had a hand on his lap, and when she made room for Fenris, her thigh pressed against his, trapping two of his fingers between them. He waited until she took a nervous sip of ale before he ever-so-slowly pulled them free.

The weak, tepid brew shot out of her mouth and across the table, running off the edge and onto Hawke's lap. He hissed a curse and looked up at her, his eyes narrowing, trying to decide of she'd done that on purpose. Hrodwynn, however, wasn't paying attention to him, trying to ignore Carver's fingers teasingly on her thigh as Fenris patted her back to help clear her airways.

"Poor girl, can't hold her ale," giggled Merrill.

"You should talk, Daisy," Varric sighed at her. "Another mug, and you won't be able to find your way home. Again."

"Oh, that's alright. There's always someone willing to help me get home. I have lots of people offering, every time I leave here." She gave a little hiccough.

Isabela rolled her eyes, Aveline shook her head, and Carver coughed as Varric added, "I know, my dear. And it's costing me a fortune to see that you get home without their help. Just…" he took her mug out of her hands, "Do me a favor, and walk home with Isabela tonight, alright?"

"Oh, you want me to spend the night with Isabela? But then why go back to my place? I thought she had a room here."

Carver's cough turned into a poorly disguised laugh. Aveline put a hand to her brow, and Isabela stared at her as if she couldn't believe Merrill could be so dense. Hrodwynn hid a giggle behind her mug, looking at Carver to ask, "Do you always have this much fun?"

"Oh, yes," Hawke said drolly, "Whether we're fighting shades, or Merrill's naivety, or babysitting little girls, it's always a riot."

Hrodwynn felt the sting of his words keenly, even if not everyone there understood the jibe, dropping her gaze to her mug but refusing to let the tears out. Fine, Hawke saw her as a little kid, a tagalong, whatever. There was no reason she should give a fuck what he thought of her, no reason at all.

Carver snapped his fingers, as if only just remembering something, as he came to her defense. "Speaking of fighting shades," he began, "Hrodwynn never got her share from the other night, did she? You had promised to pay her this afternoon…"

Hawke made a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat, and his tone of voice was anything but contrite. "Ah, sorry, must've slipped my mind. Here."

A bag of coin was tossed at her, lobbed over the top of the table like a missile. She saw it heading straight for her tender nose, but without even flinching she reached out and caught it in her left hand. Bringing her hand and the purse down from in front of her face, she looked at Hawke and smiled as nicely as she could manage. "Thank you."

"Well, now that you've got your money, I suppose you'll be on your way," Hawke continued, glancing at the door suggestively.

Hrodwynn couldn't help getting the impression that she was being dismissed. Especially when he continued to stare at her, one eyebrow raised suggestively, like he was waiting for something. She wanted to stay with Carver and Varric, and the others, but the longer she hesitated, the darker his expression grew. She never glanced around at the others, or she would have seen Carver's indignation, or Isabela's amusement, or Aveline's shock.

Or Fenris' disappointment.

Instead her vision tunneled to her hand around the mug, the peripherals threatening to turn watery and dim. "Right," she stood up, backing away from the table with her chin tucked down on her chest. She could take a hint; the grownups wanted to talk, so the kiddies had to go to bed. "Well, I guess I'll be going now. It was nice meeting everyone. Thanks for the drink, Carver. See you around." Never once did her face lift up high enough for anyone to see the tears forming.

"Wait, Hrodwynn," Carver would have toppled over the bench in his haste to stand up, if Fenris hadn't also been sitting on it. "I'll… ah… I'll walk you home."

"That's all the way to Darktown," Hawke protested, "And we do have business to discuss…"

Hrodwynn interrupted him, interrupted both brothers as Carver looked about to start arguing. "No, I'll be fine. Really. Thanks, but I'm a big girl. I can find my own way home. Done so for years. Honest. I don't need anyone 'babysitting' me."

It was a cheap shot, and really didn't hurt Hawke half as much as it hurt her, and made her look childish and foolish, but damn-it he could hurt her feelings by just sitting there! She practically raced out the door like a five-year-old after a scolding, but she didn't care. She had her money. She had her pride. She didn't need the others' friendship or companionship. And she'd be damned before she let Hawke push her into tears in front of them.

The arse, she thought to herself, the poncey arse. There was no reason he had to be so mean to her. All he had to do was pay her, and she'd have left right after he arrived. But no, he had to sit and talk with Varric. He even had to make her wait for hours before he deigned to show up! If he wanted to be rid of her, why did he take so long doing it?

"Hrodwynn!" a voice called out, but she didn't want anyone to see her, not with half her face damp from tears. She ducked around a corner to slip into the dark shadows and waited, scrubbing at her cheeks with the sleeve of her tunic.

Two forms marched down the center of the street, stopping just past where she was hiding. "She would've had to come this way, wouldn't she?" Aveline asked in her authoritative tone.

"It is the most direct route to Darktown," Fenris agreed. His eyes swept in the whole area, and for a brief and panicky moment, she thought he could see where she was hiding. She pressed deeper into the darkness, and didn't breathe again until his gaze passed her hiding place. "But perhaps she lives in a different part of Darktown, somewhere on the outskirts. Still, I don't think we need to be concerned about her."

"She's just a child." Aveline started towards Hrodwynn's nook.

"True," he allowed, taking her arm to stop her and speak with her, "But she has lived in Kirkwall long enough to know how to take care of herself, especially if she resides in Darktown. I… I don't think we'll find her, not if she doesn't want to be found. If anything, she will find us."

Aveline sighed. "I suppose you're right. Still, it breaks my heart, seeing a child like that, alone in the world, struggling to survive."

Fenris thought of her several change of tunics, quite an accomplishment for someone who lived in the poorest neighborhood of Kirkwall. There were also all those things she had brought over to his place yesterday; the medicine alone had to be expensive. "She does alright for herself. I suppose we should let her go, and get back to Hawke."

Aveline shook her head. "No, count me out of tonight's discussion. I overheard enough when he was talking with Varric. I have a feeling this is one of those things of Hawke's that, as a City Guard, I do not want to be involved in. Give him my regrets, would you? And tell him, he knows where he can find me, if he has need of me."

"I will. Good night, Captain Aveline," Fenris bowed respectfully to her. She gave a brief jerk of her head before turning away. He stood there, watching her march off until she was swallowed by the night and a turn of the street. Then he took a deep breath, walked over to the edge of the building, and leaned against it. To all outward appearances, he looked to be simply taking a break, catching his breath or resting his tired feet. But even from a few feet away, Hrodwynn could tell he was alert for danger.

"I never got the chance to thank you for helping me," he said softly, his deep and rugged voice carrying no further than her ears.

She audibly swallowed. A little fearfully, she watched him tilt his head to look over his shoulder and directly at her. Her steps were hesitant as she moved out of the shadows, but her mind raced as she tried to figure out what he meant. "Thank me?" Maker, it was bad enough that he had known exactly where she was hiding, but did her voice have to squeak?

Fenris stared in fascination as the girl went from being perfectly hidden to slipping out into the open. He had only known she was there because he had seen her slip around the corner—he had taken a gamble that she was still close enough to hear him and not long gone. Watching her step forward hesitantly like a wild animal about to bolt, he took in every aspect of her appearance. Her cheeks were still pink, but now he didn't think it was due to the alcohol like he had thought earlier. Her eyes continued to hold on to unshed moisture, and the sleeve of her tunic was slightly damp. Though she seemed upset and… fearful?… she faced him squarely; truly she was a brave young woman. "Yes, thank you for protecting my back, during the fight at Danarius' mansion. It took courage to step into a swing like you did. Though next time," he stared critically at her features, "You probably shouldn't use your face as a shield."

She gave a little laugh and sniff, glad that she could use her nose. "Yes, well," her mind was humming, half relieved that he was only talking about the fight, and half irritated that he hadn't mentioned her tending his wound. Then she froze, unable to speak or move, as his long fingers reached up and touched the bridge of her nose. She should have winced, like she had done earlier when her healer friend looked at it, but Fenris' touch was so light, his fingertips barely brushed her skin.

"I'm glad to see your nose has healed with hardly a bruise."

There was that loud, convulsing gulp strangling her throat again. "Ah, well," damn, but she sounded dull. She quickly kicked her brain in gear and tried to think of something intelligent to say. "I know a pretty good healer, in Darktown, near where I live, a friend of mine. He looked at it and…" she suddenly stopped, not because she was rambling, which she was, but because she remembered what Fenris had said about his former master, and his distrust of mages. She thought that his hatred might extend even to those who used healing magic, though why he would want to be friends with Hawke puzzled her. Shrugging her shoulders and setting the random thoughts aside, she finished lamely, "You know."

Amazingly, he didn't seem upset, merely nodding at her explanation. "He has great skill, this healer friend of yours. Did you get those medicines from him?"

She blinked, feeling the color drain from her cheeks. Damn, so he did remember her coming uninvited into his home and stripping him down to his leggings and fondling his markings. Well, she thought to herself, at least she wasn't blushing any longer. Her voice had abandoned her, however, and she could only nod.

"Then I would have you give him my thanks, both for the medicines for me, and for his care of you."

He looked like he wanted to say something more. Her head was tilted, looking up at him, as he leaned over her, looking down, his fingertips on her cheek. Again she got that girlish giggly feeling, wondering if he was going to kiss her, and why would he kiss her, and what had she done to encourage him, and could she encourage him more…

"I should get back to Hawke and the others," he said, his voice as deep as the shadows. "Take care of yourself, Hrodwynn."

Venhedis, he thought to himself, seeing the tears returning to her eyes, but it was better for her if he pushed her away. He didn't know what he was doing, or why, only that she would get hurt worse if he didn't keep her at a distance. He turned, his steps leading back to the tavern while his thoughts remained behind. Hrodwynn was just a girl, a child really, though a talented rogue. He had no business feeling impulses towards her.

He had no business feeling impulses towards anyone. He was an escaped slave, still hunted by his former master. His freedom was a mockery. His life an inconvenience. And anyone close to him ran the risk of getting hurt…

…like getting their nose broken in a fight.

He finally managed to push all thoughts of Hrodwynn aside as he pushed the door open. The Hanged Man was loud, crushingly so, the atmosphere heavy and congested, compressing the sights and sounds and smells until his stomach threatened to roil. The others were still at their table, the two brothers noticeably ignoring each other, and everyone else trying to ignore their discomfort.

Fenris took his earlier seat, now much roomier, and said, "Aveline offers her apologies, but she doesn't feel she would be appropriate for whatever… adventure… you wanted to make plans for tonight. She does say, you know where to find her, if you ever have need."

Hawke waved it aside. "Yes, fine, she was always proud and a stickler for the rules."

"What about Hrodwynn?" Carver pressed. "Did you find her?"

Fenris turned and regarded him coldly. "Not a trace," he lied. He wasn't sure what made him say that, but the thought of Carver pursuing Hrodwynn was unsettling. He felt the need to protect her from him.

"Don't worry about her, Junior," Varric offered. "I've heard a bit about Hrodwynn; she's a survivor, if anything."

"Can we please get back to the reason we're meeting here tonight?" Hawke asked, exasperated. Carver crossed his arms but kept quiet, Isabela nodded and Merrill clapped her hands.

"Oh, yes, please. Though I can't remember anymore what it was," the Dalish elf bubbled.

Varric sighed, "Have another drink, Daisy. We're here…" he stopped as the barmaid approached with a tray of ale. He waited for Hawke to pay for and pass out the next round of drinks. Then, when the barmaid had moved on, he cleared his throat and started again, "We're here to talk about my brother's expedition into the Deep Roads. Though Bartrand knows where we're going, we still need to find an entrance into the Deep Roads, preferably one close to the Thaig. Now, I've heard rumors that there's a healer in Darktown who might know of an entrance, but I've been having trouble getting anyone to tell me who or where he is."

Fenris leaned back a little, one black eyebrow twitched upwards with dry amusement. "A healer in Darktown, you said?"

"Yes, do you know of him?"

He shook his head at Varric's question. "No, but I think I know someone who does."

"Who?" Hawke asked, his hand reaching partway across the table.

"You're not going to like it," he warned, but answered anyway.

* * *

><p>Hawke bit off the curse. "You're right; I don't like this."<p>

Fenris wanted to smile. He liked seeing the little pout on Hawke's lips, seeing the mage being taken down a notch or two. A little humility would do him good. "It would have been easier, if you hadn't been in such a hurry to get rid of her last night."

Hawke scoffed, "She's a girl, Fenris. She's too young for what we're planning."

"Yet she seems to be in possession of the very information we need."

"No, just the easiest way to get it. Actually," Hawke looked down a side street that would lead to Darktown. They had left word at Anso's stall for Hrodwynn to come to Fenris' mansion. They had been fairly sure she wouldn't want to come, if they mentioned the Hanged Man, thinking that Hawke was looking for her. But she liked Fenris—much to Hawke's chagrin—so there was a better chance she would show up if he made the request for her help. "Actually, I'm not sure she's the best solution. I mean, there has to be others that know of this healer. And I am Ferelden; I should be able to talk with my fellow refugees and find out about him myself."

"In case you haven't noticed," Fenris pointed out, "You've done quite well for yourself. Granted, you're no nobleman, but neither are you squatting in the sewers. You're no longer a Ferelden refugee. And they could resent you for it. No, Hawke," he sighed, opening the door to the mansion, "She's our best bet."

"Fine," he huffed, heading inside ahead of Fenris, "But I still don't like it."

No one said you had to like it, Fenris thought to himself, but he didn't dare give it voice. Even after running away from his master, even after ensuring his freedom through mountains of bodies and rivers of blood, there were still some lines he wouldn't—or couldn't—cross.

The afternoon passed quietly, the two of them spending it in idle chatter. After his initial huff, Hawke calmed down, even turned on a bit of charm, which caught Fenris off guard. At one point, he almost found himself laughing. Laughing! He would liked to have excused himself then, asked Hawke to leave to allow himself a chance to clear his head, but he knew they would have to stay together, waiting there until Hrodwynn arrived.

If she came.

If she checked in with Anso today.

If she thought it was Fenris who wanted to see her.

If…

A knock sounded on the door, and Fenris jumped to his feet to answer it. The action was natural, even enthusiastic, yet he didn't dare give it any thought to find out if his eagerness came from that long-engrained servitude he had yet to overcome, or for that breath of fresh air he needed. It was merely a knock on his door, so he should be the one to open it.

The doorway framed Hrodwynn, wearing the bright green tunic that matched her eyes. She looked like she had been just about to turn away, but seeing him answer made her turn back, the tips of her dark red hair brushing over the tops of her shoulders. "Um, hi." The light tinge of pink returned to her cheeks as she tried to hold his gaze.

"Hello," he gave a little nod, stepping aside and gesturing with his hand. "Thank you for coming, Hrodwynn. Please, come inside. There's something we need to discuss with you."

"'We'?" she asked, crossing the portal. Looking around the interior, she saw that it was still trashed from the fight the other night. Apparently, Fenris didn't do housekeeping, or didn't care. Well, that wasn't her problem. She was only there because Anso had sent a message that Fenris wanted to see her…

"Yes."

She closed her eyes a moment, feeling her gorge rise at just the sound of Hawke's voice. When she turned from Fenris towards him, however, her face was bright and open. "Oh, hello, Hawke. How are you?"

Maker, Hawke thought to himself, but she was making this hard, with that affected, girlish voice. Why didn't she put her hair in pigtails and skip down the hallway? He was about to retort, when he caught Fenris' eye over her shoulder. Right, they needed her help. No matter how infuriating or irritating she was going to be, he would be the better man and rise above their differences. "I'm fine, Hrodwynn, thank you for asking. And," he stepped closer, turning on the charm and smiling warmly, "Thank you for coming." He picked up both her hands, and kissed the backs of them, moving his soft lips a little against her skin.

"I, ah," she glanced over her shoulder, feeling like she had just stepped into a trap that had sprung closed before she ever saw it. "I thought Fenris wanted to see me. So I came. I didn't know you'd be here."

"That's why we asked you to come here," Fenris provided, "Because we didn't think you'd want to see Hawke again, after last night."

Hawke shot him a look, telling him with narrowed eyes to stop interfering. But Hrodwynn gave a short sort of laugh. "No, I suppose I wouldn't have." She looked back at him, but his features were schooled once more into a suave and warm smile. "Alright, fine, what do you want?"

"Just some information," Hawke said, "Nothing too strenuous."

"Oh," she had been thinking he'd changed his mind, but of course he wouldn't want her for this mysterious job of his. She tried to hide the disappointment and instead waited for him to continue.

"We need to find someone," he said, still holding one hand and leading her to a couch. He sat down next to her, Fenris standing nearby, making her feel like she was back in that trap again, held captive between the two men.

"Someone specific?" she prompted, using the little exercise in deduction to distract her from the trapped feeling. "Let me guess, someone in Darktown?"

"Yes," he sighed, "A healer. We don't know who he is, only that he's somewhere in Darktown, and Fenris mentioned you knew of a healer…" His words faded away, seeing as she was leaning back and trying to pull her hand out of his grip.

"Oh, no," Hrodwynn shook her head, "No fucking way. No. Never. Not gonna happen!"

"Hrodwynn," Hawke's voice took a disapproving tone, turning fatherly on her, but Fenris stepped forward and also spoke.

"Please, Hrodwynn, it is important to us." His deep voice seemed to have some sway with her, so Hawke decided to let him speak. "We only need some information from your friend. He may not even be the one we're looking for…"

"There's only one healer in Darktown, one who'd be harder to find, anyway," she muttered darkly, crossing her arms and looking away.

"Which is why we need you to introduce us." He knelt in front of her, much like she had when she tended his shoulder. "Please, we just want to talk with him, find out if he knows anything that could help us. We don't mean him any harm."

She looked at him a moment, almost like she was trying to be swayed, her lips pursed, her brows scrunched. Eventually, however, she gave a little shake of her head. "No," she whispered, "I can't do it." Fenris looked at her closely for any signs of subterfuge, but she seemed genuinely distraught, caught between protecting her friend and disappointing him.

Hawke, on the other hand, was less gracious. His patience was slipping, making him almost snap at her, "Can't, or won't?"

"Won't," she retorted. "You don't understand, you may not intend him harm, but others do. He's not hiding in Darktown out of choice, you know, no one does. There are bad people after him, and even if you're not one of them, you could lead those people to him." She pushed herself off the couch and took a few steps away, needing a little space away from the other two. She reached a wall and turned back to them, a thumbnail between her teeth, her eyes staring blindly at the floorboards. Hawke acted like he wanted to say something, but closed his mouth again when Fenris signaled him to remain silent. Though he didn't like it, he could see the girl and the elf had some sort of fledgling rapport growing, so he trusted Fenris to know how to handle her.

"If," she started, pulling out of her thoughts and looking up at them again, "And I mean IF I agree to this, I could take a message to him, from you, asking him if he would agree to meet you. But I won't take you to him. IF I deliver your message, and IF he agrees to see you, then you should be prepared to meet somewhere neutral. Not where he lives and works in Darktown."

Hawke barely kept himself from rolling his eyes at the unnecessary, silly precautions. "Fair enough," he agreed magnanimously, though inwardly he was underwhelmed by the extra drama, "Ask him if he'll meet with us, at a place of his choosing. Tell him whatever he wants to know, about me, or Varric, or even Fenris. I promise to answer any other questions he has, when we meet in person."

She nodded. "Alright. I'll deliver your message. Where should I bring his answer to you? At the Hanged Man again?"

Hawke nodded. "It's as good a place as any. I can spend a couple of hours there tomorrow afternoon, if that isn't too soon."

"That'll be fine," she agreed. When no one else spoke again, she looked between them and hummed. "Well, then, I'll go ask him, and bring his answer to you." She seemed fairly uncomfortable around Hawke still, and thinking the appointment was finished, she started heading towards the door.

"I'll walk you out," offered Fenris, falling into step by her side. Hawke, thankfully, left them alone, though he thought he could feel Hawke's eyes on them.

Fenris stepped outside with her, fully closing the door behind them, a small sigh escaping his chest. Her brow grew a cute little wrinkle at his action, but he ignored it and focused on what he had to say. "Thank you, Hrodwynn. I realize Hawke has been less than gracious with you, but this is important to him, and he does appreciate your help."

"Oh, well," she glanced away, a little flustered by his praise, "I suppose, whatever Hawke's planning, that you're gonna be involved, too, so for your sake, I'll make sure he has good information."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. That was twice in one day he had felt almost… amused. He squelched the impulse before it took root. "I'd appreciate that."

She looked like she wanted to say or do something more, but the atmosphere between them quickly grew awkward. She opened her mouth a few times, made a funny little smile, but without another word she suddenly turned and disappeared into the evening crowds.

Hawke opened the door and said softly, "Follow her."


	4. Mr Snuggles' Surprise

**A/N: ugh, this chapter was hard to write for some reason. I suppose it meandered too much. Forgive me for any OOC, but for some reason I keep playing with my favorite companions in game, and I haven't gotten to know the others too well, so I've taken some liberties. I hope you enjoy it, anyway :'D**

**Chapter Four: Mr. Snuggles' Surprise**

The voice behind Fenris was strong, confident, authoritative—and he had obeyed, he had taken a full step, away from the door and into the street. The suddenness of the movement, of taking an action that wasn't of his own volition, slapped him in the face. He was no longer a slave. He didn't have to obey every command without question. He stopped and tried to pretend that the step was only so he could turn and get a better look at Hawke, standing behind him in the now open doorway, his eyes over his shoulder scanning the crowd for the girl.

Still, it took every ounce of willpower to question, "What?"

"Follow her," Hawke repeated, sounding distracted. "We can't let her think she's useful to us." He gave up searching for the bright green tunic and dropped his eyes down to Fenris. He saw the elf's eyebrows drawn downwards into a frown, and knew he was sounding too harsh, too bitter, too jealous…? True, he didn't like the instant rapport between Fenris and Hrodwynn, but this wasn't the time to bring that up. Instead, he used that connection to his advantage. "If she feels she's a part of our group, she may try to come with us. And the Deep Roads are full of dangers we can't imagine, definitely not a place for a little girl. She could get hurt if she comes with us, or worse." He reached out and set a hand on his shoulder companionably, mindful of the strange and spiky armor. "For her own sake, it would be better to keep her out of this as much as possible. So follow her to this healer friend of hers. After she leaves, speak with him yourself. Convince him to help us, or to meet me in the Hanged Man tonight and I'll convince him. But we have to keep Hrodwynn out of this, for her own good. She's just a little girl, after all."

She's not a child, Fenris felt the impulse to argue, but he had control over himself once more and his disagreement remained silent. He could see the wisdom in Hawke's words, so without any further sign of protest, he turned to pick up Hrodwynn's trail.

She wasn't hard to follow, her green tunic coming into sight after a few minutes. She wasn't moving quickly, either, more meandering through the streets, stopping at a stall now and then to look at some brightly colored ribbon or bit of cloth. She even bought a yellow ribbon before she seemed done with her shopping for the day. Her pace picked up then, and he followed her down several streets and around a few corners, before they eventually made their way into Darktown.

The sun was just about to set. Down here beneath the city, however, it didn't matter if it was day or night, as there was no view of the sky. The buildings were dismal, carved out of the very earth, some of them no more than a small hollow in a tunnel wall with a large board for the doorway. The people, mostly expatriate Fereldens, moved listlessly through what passed for a street, whether due to poor health or outright sickness or a lack of caring.

It grew harder to follow Hrodwynn, not only because her tunic didn't show as bright without the sunlight, and her red hair faded to auburn in the dismal tunnels. It was also because she began to move as listlessly as the crowd, her steps slow and her course meandering like it had in Hightown, but without any rhyme or reason. She simply appeared, well, like every other Ferelden down there, and following her became more of a challenge.

He couldn't say why, but his enjoyment increased with the difficulty.

The crush of bodies became another obstacle. Fenris quickly discovered there was a flow to the masses, and he was often battling his way upstream. Several times he had to steer to the side, squeeze against the stone and earth until the tides of movement changed, allowing him to inch forward once more. She seemed either impervious to the flow, or oblivious to it, slipping around eddies and avoiding rip currents like it was second nature to her. Twice the disparity of their progress caused her to slip from his sight, and left him with several minutes of intense searching until he spotted her hair or tunic or that yellow ribbon clutched in the fingers of her left hand. Still, that was only because she remained on the street. Had she ducked into a building while out of his sight, he would have lost her completely.

He was infused with adrenaline by the time they reached their destination, his lips parted to allow for his heavy breaths, his face slightly flushed with his increased heart rate. He almost felt disappointment when he saw her stop outside a door, fumbling for a moment at the latch. He had just begun to consider his current state, with that analytical part of his mind which never quite shut off and always viewed and reviewed his actions and reactions…

"This is my home."

Hrodwynn's sudden statement was surprising, and undoubtedly directed at him. She turned so he could see her face, and even in the dim torchlight, her bright green eyes glittered like emeralds, a striking contrast to the paleness of her skin. Dark red lips pouted, dark red brows scrunching in disapproval when he brazenly stepped up to her. "What are you doing? Following me?"

Venhedis, what could he answer? Outwardly, initially, yes, he had been following her. But now…?

"Hawke put you up to this, didn't he?" she narrowed her eyes, taking his silence as admittance. She made a small face and glanced away before looking him directly in the eye. "Well, just so you know, this is where I live, alright? It's late enough, my healer friend has probably closed his clinic for the day. Tell Hawke I'll still talk with my friend, probably in the morning. And there'll be plenty of time to meet him at the Hanged Man, if that's what he's worried about."

No, that wasn't what he was worried about, but again Fenris couldn't find the words. He saw her expression change, from irritation to confusion to disinterest. She turned back to the door, and his hand reached out, intending to turn her face towards him again.

"I wanted to see you got home safely."

The words just sort of… spurted from his mouth, awkward and unwarranted, and hung there in the space between them like his hand. She didn't turn around, she didn't see his hand. If anything she glanced further away before saying to the door, "Well, I'm home, safe, so thanks." The wooden portal opened and closed to swallow her petite form, leaving Fenris alone in the street.

Automatically his steps began taking him away, his course set for the Hanged Man. Even as his eyes scanned for danger, his thoughts scanned the little episode. Somehow she had known he'd been following her. Somehow she had known—or made an educated guess—that Hawke had been the reason. Briefly he considered the possibility that, because she had discovered his surveillance, she had lied to him about arriving at her home rather than the healer's shop. For some reason, however, he didn't think she'd lie, not to him. She had stepped inside that building, without a knock to ask permission, or a call to alert someone to her presence. No, she had entered the building just like she lived there.

He pushed her out of his mind as he reached Lowtown. The sun was fully gone by this point, and there would no doubt be thieves and highwaymen lying in wait for any unsuspecting pedestrian. Not that he was unsuspecting, or posed any sort of tempting target, but he never took chances. Ever at odds with the world, with fate, Fenris remained on constant guard until he reached the Hanged Man.

The atmosphere inside the tavern was as it had been the night before, overwhelming and palpable. He ignored it as best he could and made his way over to Varric's table. Briefly he wondered if the dwarf had rented the table as well as the room, holding court there once again, drinking and telling stories to any who would listen. The group was smaller tonight, the two Hawke siblings and Isabela, who was probably only there because she also rented a room. Fenris strode up to them and nodded curtly in greeting.

"Fenris! That was… quick," began Hawke, his exuberant spirit dwindling away as he looked around them, "…and fruitless. Where's the healer?"

Fenris took a seat, his face impassive. "She knew I was following her. Instead of going to see him, she simply went home."

"She went…" he snapped his mouth shut, figuring it wouldn't be any help stating the obvious. "And you believed her? She could have been lying, and how would you know!" That wasn't the right thing to say either, Fenris' expression growing even darker.

"I realized, once she knew I had been following her on your behest," Fenris began, his harsh voice low like a growl, "That she could have said something like that to throw me off the scent. I don't believe she would lie to me, however."

"Why? Because she has a crush on you?" Carver took exception at Hawke's taunt, but couldn't manage more than a startled scoff. "Oh, don't look so disappointed, Carver. I told you a kitten would be less fuss."

He was so caught up in his brother's reaction, he missed the expression that flickered across Fenris' face. Varric saw it, but he wasn't so deep in his cups as to give in to the impulse to point it out to everyone. Isabela started teasing Carver about his interest in the girl, which in turn fueled Hawke's irritation.

Fenris sat quietly mulling over the idea. Did Hrodwynn have a crush on him? He thought she had just been nice the other day, coming to see him and tend a wound he had been too preoccupied to notice. But she had been more than eager to come to his home again today, thinking she would be seeing him and only him. Perhaps Hawke had a point; perhaps Hrodwynn did feel some sort of adolescent attraction towards him. He breathed a heavy sigh; such a thing would get her hurt. He'd have to find a way to discourage her. A broken heart over a childish crush would be a lot less painful than a knife through the heart for assisting an escaped slave.

Hawke gave up trying to interfere with Isabela teasing Carver about Hrodwynn. Rolling his eyes away from them, he finally noticed Fenris' silence. He wondered what was going through his head, his expression so grim, so determined.

So strong.

He had felt his own attraction to Fenris from the very first moment. He was so lithe and graceful in battle, yet so awkward and unskilled in dealing with people. He found himself fascinated by the stark contrasts, intrigued by the dark mystery, and wondering about his tastes.

"Well, it doesn't matter now," he dismissed all the arguing with a flick of his fingers. "We're going to have to trust Hrodwynn to speak to this healer friend of hers on our behalf. Hopefully, she can convince him to meet with us. Then," he looked pointedly at Carver, "We'll have to make sure she doesn't invite herself along on our expedition. For her own safety, of course."

Varric smirked into his mug. He suddenly had the urge to make sure that Hrodwynn came with them into the Deep Roads, if only to watch the interactions between Hawke and Carver and Fenris. And he could do it, too; all it would take would be a well-placed word or two with his brother. Sure, Bartrand could be obstinate and insufferable, and Varric hadn't handled the situation with Hawke in the best manner, but he knew he could get Hrodwynn into their little group, as long as she had something useful and unique to offer.

He glanced at Hawke's smug expression, Carver's pout, and the brooding look on Fenris's face. Oh, yes, this was going to make for an interesting story.

At the very least, it would be fun.

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"Anders?" Hrodwynn asked, dangling the yellow ribbon just out of the kitten's reach, the tiny, pink padded paws batting at empty air. It was late, the clinic closed and the two of them enjoying a small supper. Theirs was a simple arrangement, started after she had ducked inside one evening to find a warm place to spend a winter night. They had passed the time talking, and by morning had a sort of understanding worked out. She brought in the coin, made sure he ate every day and got some sleep every night—in other words, didn't work himself to death trying to save every sick person in Darktown. In turn, he gave her the use of the small loft over his clinic—and if anyone ever came asking after her, he'd say he didn't know anyone who fit her description. It wasn't ideal, but it kept her off the streets at night. And, thankfully, he didn't comment on her legally dubious activities, and she didn't comment on his fondness for cats.

"Anders," she repeated, looking across the table at him, "How can some aches be loud, and others quiet?"

He blinked and set aside his spoon, seriously considering her question. "Well, I suppose, an ache could be heard if it came from a swollen joint, one that might make a popping noise when moved. Or if the afflicted person moaned when feeling the ache, or if the ache was severe enough to inhibit their movements, say, causing them to drop things or stumble into furniture. By contrast, a quiet ache would be simply felt by the person, and no one else would know about it. Does this answer your question?"

She let her hand lower a little too far, and the kitten managed to steal the ribbon from her fingers. "I… guess so…"

He heard the lingering confusion in her words, and decided to pursue the subject. "I'm curious. What was the context of this question?"

She sighed, watching but not entertained by the kitten trying to run off with the brightly colored strip of fabric, tangling his legs and attracting the attention of the other kittens. "Someone mentioned an ache the other day."

"Oh, one of these new friends of yours?" he guessed, referring to the people she had told him about in the Hanged Man, the ones who wanted to meet him.

She hummed an agreement, nodding as she picked her spoon back up, pushing around the chunks of vegetables in the savory stew. "We were just talking, exchanging names and the like, and one of them asked if my ache was silent."

It took a full ten count for Anders to figure it out. "'H'!" he exclaimed so suddenly it made her jump, lifting wide green eyes up from the wrestling kittens. "They asked if the 'H' was silent." At her dumbfounded nod, he felt like slapping his forehead. He hadn't known her for more than a few months, but it had been long enough for him to figure out there were some subjects Hrodwynn was sensitive about, and her lack of education was one of them. Calming himself, he patted his robes and searched his pockets, hoping to find a stylus and parchment. Giving up, he dipped his finger in the stew and, in very large lines, began drawing on the tabletop. "They were talking about your name," he explained, his tone of voice as gentle as he could manage, pointing out the letters as he continued. "It starts with the letter 'H', but there's no 'H' sound in your name, ha, ha. Instead the sound starts with the second letter, 'R', r-r-r-r-rodwynn. Understand? The 'H' is silent."

No, he hadn't handled that well, judging by the pink color flooding across her cheeks. Quickly he decided to change the subject, wiping up the gravy with the sleeve of his robe. "So, ah, tomorrow, are you sure about this?"

She took a deep breath, standing up and bringing her bowl to the wash basin, giving herself time to get the heat off her cheeks. "If you're willing to meet them, then yes, we should take precautions. I don't really know this Hawke or his friends. They seem nice," she tipped the last of her stew into a bowl for the mother cat and all her kittens. He followed her, gently shooing a kitten out of the way with the side of his boot, "For the most part, and I don't think they're working for the Wardens, or they probably wouldn't have been looking for work from Anso." She took his bowl from him and did the same, only the kittens wouldn't move out of the way, so some of the stew ended up on the tops of some heads. "But Hawke wasn't interested in me until after I sort of mentioned to Fenris that I knew a healer in Darktown. So maybe they've heard about the bounty, and decided to turn you in to the Templars for the reward. Then again, maybe Hawke does have legitimate business with you. Either way, just stick to the plan; you'll be safe because no one will be expecting it."

"You don't trust Hawke, do you."

It wasn't a question, but she answered, "No, it's not that I don't trust him. I just don't like him. And I get the impression he doesn't like me. I suppose it doesn't matter what he thinks of me, but since he wants to bring one of my friends into this…"

Anders watched her green eyes glitter like emeralds, hard and regal. He appreciated her loyalty, and again blessed whatever fate or power that had given her the impulse to find shelter in his clinic one night last winter. And he feared the day he ever found himself at odds with such a determined and resourceful young woman.

"It's late, you should go to bed," he suggested. "I'll do the washing up."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but had already started turning away, more than willing to leave him to it. "You'll go to bed afterwards and get some sleep, too, won't you?"

"I promise," he nodded. "No more work tonight. Now, go to bed. And don't forget to take your ribbon to add it to your collection." He leaned over and placed a brotherly kiss on her forehead. She gave him a small smile and started for the ladder to the loft, pausing to pick up her ribbon—abandoned in favor of the stew. "Just a moment, don't forget your kittens. I, ah, can't remember which ones are yours."

"That's alright. They know which ones they are. Watch." She had stopped at the ladder and tapped the side of her boot against it, making a noise like she was climbing upwards. Two kittens pulled themselves away from the furry pile around the empty feeding bowl and bounded towards her. She gave a little laugh, reached down to scoop them up into one arm, and then began climbing the ladder for her loft.

Anders listened to her moving around up there as he began washing up. He was glad she was in his life, seeing her as the little sister he never had, and enjoying her companionship and loyalty. He did feel sorry for her, however; not knowing all that much about her past, he could tell she had never had much of a childhood, and though she fiercely insisted she was old enough to make her own way in life, there were little things she did—like her collection—that told of this denied childhood.

He sighed and set the last dish aside, thinking he just might mix up one or two batches of healing potion before going to bed.

"Good night, Anders," her voice called out from over his head. She must have heard him finish with the dishes, and decided to remind him of his promise. He looked at the ceiling, as if he could look through it and see the girl, lying on her bed amidst the bright bits of ribbons and remnants.

"Good night, Hrodwynn," he called back. Turning away from his work, he blew out the candles and headed for his own bed.

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"She did say she would be here," Hawke harrumphed, sitting next to Varric, his arms crossed. His mood was cross, too, something that had Fenris instantly on edge.

"You said she'd meet you here in the afternoon," Carver reminded him, his tone slightly exasperated, "And it's barely midday. Give her a few hours at least before you get all pissy."

Hawke was about to retort, but he realized in time his little brother was trying to get him riled up. Like he needed any more excuses. He uncrossed his arms, just to make a point, and began drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

The door opened and everyone turned to see who had entered. Their eyes quickly grew disinterested at yet another commoner, hood up and shoulders hunched to ward against the chilly day. Fenris couldn't say why he automatically followed the newcomer's movements, taking careful note of where he sat with his back to the wall. Thinking about it, he realized it probably had more to do with Hawke's mood, than any real sign of danger. Hawke was agitated; and it was a long-ingrained behavioral pattern for Fenris to be in a higher state of alertness when Danarius had been in such a state of mind…

He didn't want to admit why Hawke would cause such a reaction within him, preferring to think it was because Hawke was a friend, and any friend who was upset or in danger would cause the same sort of hyper-awareness and protectiveness.

Still, he forced himself to relax, to lean back a little on the bench, and make his eyes scan the whole tavern. The conversation of the others washed over his ears, a low kind of hum in the back of his head. He heard what they talked about: the jokes and stories Varric told, the discussion Isabela had with Merrill regarding her previous conquests, and the petty verbal bickering between Hawke and his brother. Outwardly he made small noises when appropriate, but inwardly he focused all his attention on letting go of that premonition of danger.

Varric and Isabela were in the middle of a discussion, possibly about daggers—Fenris wasn't sure as he had missed that part of the conversation. Apparently Carver had, too, as he suddenly coughed into his mug, his face turning red. The main door opened and Hrodwynn walked in, still in that bright green tunic that matched her eyes so closely. She glanced through the room, smiling when she found them at their normal table. Briefly Fenris wondered why she had looked around; surely she knew where they sat every day.

"There you are!" she said as brightly as her tunic, approaching them. "No Aveline today?" Her brow furrowed a little, as if the lack of the city guardsman upset her. She took a seat next to Carver, who's welcoming smile was warm enough to cover his brother's cold reception.

"She's not interested in today's business. And you're late," accused Hawke, eyeing her across the table and past the end of his pointing finger. "I have better things to do, than wait around all day for you to play at being a messenger service."

"I… ah… you asked to meet here during the afternoon, and I got here before evening, didn't I?"

"I don't need your cheek, young lady," he shook the finger at her.

"And I don't need your scolding," she countered. "I did this as a favor to you, remember? And no one said I had to help you. In fact, for all I know, this could be a Templar trap, set to capture my friend." She stood up abruptly, like she was ready to leave that moment.

"Templars?" Hawke asked, genuinely confused by her sudden accusation. "What do you mean? I know you mentioned some 'bad people' were after your friend, but I thought you meant thieves or cutthroats, not… Templars?" The look on her face was answer enough. He rolled his eyes and turned to the dwarf next to him. "Damn it, Varric, you didn't mention there'd be any Templar entanglements."

"I'd only heard rumors," answered Varric, trying to protest his innocence, "That there was a healer in Darktown who might know of some forgotten entrances into the Deep Roads. Nothing about any Templars…"

"Wait," Hrodwynn held up her hand, retaking her seat. "You mean, you're not working for the Templars? Or the Wardens? You really are only interested in some information?" She had hoped that was the case, Hawke being a mage and all, but he might have been working undercover as an apostate or something. She had to make sure, first, before Anders walked into a trap.

Fenris noted that the man in the hood had stood up, but relaxed again when it appeared he was going upstairs, not to their table. He also noted that everyone at the table took notice of his movement—everyone but Hrodwynn. She resolutely kept her eyes glued on Hawke's face, making her lack of reaction remarkable. Fenris glanced towards the stairs, but the man had reached the top landing and disappeared around the corner. He turned his attention back to her, watching her even closer than before. He had thought she was trustworthy, but he had been wrong before.

Hawke was having entirely different thoughts. Damn, but he hadn't wanted Hrodwynn to figure any of this out. He would have cursed Varric's loose tongue, but the dwarf grinned unrepentantly at him, making him think the slip had been on purpose. "Like Varric said," he began, hating the idea but knowing he had no choice, "We only want to talk with the healer. We don't know if he's even the healer with the information we need. So, no, Hrodwynn, this is not a trap." He leaned closer, "Now tell us, what did your friend say? Did he agree to meet us?"

She was silent for a few seconds, before she looked around at all the others at the table. "Can we talk in private?"

"Anything you tell me, I'll be telling them as soon as I can, you know."

She set her chin. "That's up to you. I made a promise, to speak with you in private. The sooner that's done, the sooner I'm out of your hair." She knew that last part would get him, and predictably Varric spoke up.

"You could use my room. Just at the top of the stairs."

Hawke looked like he wanted to argue, but as she hoped, the thought of getting rid of her quickly was too tempting. "Fine," he sighed, a little overly dramatic for the situation, "Let's go get this over with."

He pushed away from the table, and she followed obediently at his heels, neither one noticing the way Fenris kept his eyes trained on them.

Varric's room was cozy and somewhat messy, giving the impression that he had lived here for some time. Hrodwynn didn't touch anything, only stepping inside a few paces. Hawke walked to the center of the room before turning and crossing his arms over his chest. She wouldn't have been surprised if he started tapping his foot, the stance was so comical.

"Well?"

"His name is Anders," she began, still standing near the door. "Well, that's not his name, it's where he's from, but that's what everyone calls him. He's… ah… a healer, a mage actually, and a Warden, but he's on his own now. So you understand there are quite a few people looking for him, and very few who are his friends."

"Yes, I got that impression already. Has he agreed to meet with me?"

She kept herself from rolling her eyes, barely. "In a moment."

"You'll tell me in a moment?" he repeated, incredulous. "Why can't you tell me now."

"No, I mean…" she stopped, tilting her head to listen at the knock on the door. Three sharp taps, followed by two slow thuds. She flashed a smile at Hawke and said, "I'll let him explain." Two quick steps and she was at the door, holding it open for a hooded man.

"Who are you?" asked Hawke, angry enough over his conversation with Hrodwynn to be flustered with the presence of an unusual visitor.

The man pulled back his hood, revealing a strong face framed with strawberry blond hair and at least three day's worth of stubble. "She was supposed to have told you my name by now."

"I did," she protested, closing the door firmly. "Hawke, this is Anders, the healer you were asking about. Anders, this is Hawke. I thought you were going to wait a little longer."

Anders shrugged, "I saw someone I recognize—and trust—sitting at the table with him. I figured, if Isabela sees something in this Hawke fellow, he can't be as bad as you've made him out to be."

Hrodwynn groaned and hid her face behind a hand, but was saved from any sort of retaliation from Hawke. A pathetic mewl spilled out of one of Anders' pockets, and he coughed. "Excuse me. Would you like a kitten?"

"A what?" Hawke blinked at him.

Anders pulled two kittens out of two pockets. "A kitten. Mr. Snuggles surprised me a few weeks ago. Well, I suppose I should call him Mrs. Snuggles now. Or Ms. Snuggles. Never did figure out who the tom was. Anyway, I have several kittens I'm trying to find homes for. Would you like one?"

Hawke's eyes were wide as he looked at the fuzzy fur balls hanging in his hands. "Ah, no, thank you, I'm, ah, allergic to cats."

"Oh," Anders sounded disappointed, but not upset.

"Why don't you give them to Hrodwynn?"

She laughed, "I already have two. But I'll take these and see if I can find them a home while you two talk. Come on, kitties, maybe the bartender has a problem with mice." She continued to coo and coddle them as she walked to the door to let herself out. She was confident in Anders' opinion of Hawke. She still didn't like the arse, but if Anders knew Isabela, and Isabela trusted Hawke, then she supposed she could trust Hawke not to turn him in to the Templars or the Wardens.

"Sorry about that," Anders said after the door had closed, "But Hrodwynn is a little overly dramatic at times."

"So I've noticed," hummed Hawke. "I take it this subterfuge was her idea, all the privacy and cloaks and secret knocks."

It wasn't a question, but Anders nodded anyway. "There are several people after me—most of them want me dead or tranquil—so yes, this was her plan to keep me safe, give me an option to back out and get away if it was a trap. She means well, truly she does." He draped his cloak over the back of a chair. "Hrodwynn is a fiercely loyal friend, a good thing to have at your back, even if she's over zealous at times. Now, what was it you wanted to talk with me about? If you don't mind, I'd like to get this over with so I can get back to my clinic."

Hrodwynn didn't hear any of their conversation, intent on making her way back to the common room, and maybe sitting beside Carver for a little while. She had closed the door and gotten to the top of the stairs when she came face to face with Fenris. It was so sudden and unexpected, that she dropped one of the kittens to the floor. "Oh!"

"Hrodwynn," he said, his voice deep and dangerous, sending shivers down her spine. The dropped kitten, after shaking off the surprise, promptly began pawing at Fenris' ankle. He looked down, slightly confused, at the kitten trying to climb his leg.

"Fenris!" she said, losing all sense of composure. She bent down to pick up the kitten, at the same time he did, and she had to stop quickly before they bumped heads. She let him pick up the kitten, holding it carefully in his gauntleted hands.

"What…?" he couldn't find the words to finish voicing the question. He stared distractedly at the kitten, pawing and gnawing on his hands, not intimidated at all by the eery streaks of lyrium marking his palms, or the razor sharp points at the ends of his fingers.

"Hey, she likes you."

He pulled his eyes up from the warm, soft bundle in his hands to pin her with his stare. "Where's Hawke?"

"In there," she thumbed over her shoulder, "Talking with Anders."

"The man in the cloak."

She looked up at him finally, and felt a jolt of apprehension at the look on his face. Quickly she tumbled through an explanation, just to ease his worries. "Yes. I had Anders wait to make sure this wasn't a trap, but he said he saw Isabela—I guess they know each other—anyway, he decided Hawke was alright, if she thought so, so now they're talking. Want one?"

He hadn't followed half of that. He latched on to the last thing she had said and asked, "Want one what?"

"Kitten," she gestured with the one she was holding to the one he was holding. "I bet that mansion you're living in has a few mice; you could use a good mouser. Their mother's a champion mouser in Darktown."

"I'll, ah, consider it," he tried to evade, but he did start following her downstairs, distracted by the kitten's apparent and instant fondness for him, its little body practically vibrating with its purrs.

"Fenris, I see you've finally gotten a little pussy!"

Isabela's voice rang through the common room, making every eye turn to stare at them. "What? No, just Hrodwynn. I mean, it's her pussy… kitten."

Carver's mouthful of ale went straight out his nose. Varric roared with laughter, slapping Carver's back to help him spit out the last of the ale. Isabela's eyes danced, more than satisfied that she had flustered Fenris. She had flustered Hrodwynn, too, judging by the bright pink spots on her cheeks.

"I don't get it," Merrill chirped, "What's so funny? Oh, wait, you don't mean…" She stared at Fenris and Hrodwynn, took in the matching kittens and awkward expressions. "They wouldn't have had enough time for that, would they?"

Carver's face was red, he was trying so hard to catch his breath. Varric sighed, "Have another drink, Merrill."


	5. Seek and Hide

**A/N: thank you for the comments; they are encouraging.**

**As for Hrodwynn, just hang on—I'll be clearing up a little of the mystery around her in the next chapter or two. Yes, I know, I'm a tease ;'D**

**Also, why didn't anyone tell me Kitten was already taken? I was playing the game this past week, switching up the companions and listening to their party dialogue, and Isabela called Merrill Kitten! _ Damn it! It was such a good nickname, too. Oh, well…**

**Chapter Five: Seek and Hide**

Hrodwynn was slipping through the streets of Darktown, her dark clothing blending in with the dark shadows. That was one thing she liked about living there—day or night there were plenty of shadows in which to hide. She turned a corner, ducked down a twisting, narrow lane, broke out into the open on a larger street, backtracked half a block, and slipped into the murkiness around a doorway. She kept her back to the alley she had just come from, the pale skin of her face covered with her dark red hair, and counted to thirty.

"Damn!" she heard the curse, spoken softly, just as she reached twenty-seven. She kept her face hidden and strained her ears to listen. "Any idea which way the bitch went?"

"No, sir," several voices responded at once. She resisted the urge to smile confidently. She wasn't safe yet; any one of those mercenaries might still spy some sign of her. She kept still, barely daring to breathe, as she knew the eye was attracted to movement.

Their leader snarled something, but it was unintelligible, made so by distance and the sound of their heavy boots pounding the ground. They were running the other way, thinking she had continued on course, not expecting her to double-back. She didn't dare risk moving yet, however; she'd been caught once when someone sent most of his men in one direction, and a couple in the other direction just in case. Sure enough, another fifteen count and two of the men came strolling down the street, trying to look like they belonged there.

Now she smiled coldly. Fucking private guards, she thought to herself, thinking they're so much better than the rest of us, just because they have steady employment. She watched them pass her hiding place, oblivious to her presence, oblivious to the area into which they were walking. They'd figure out soon enough, once they saw the sulphureous-yellow hues of the chokedamp. They might even have time to make it out, before they succumbed to the haze and began coughing. She pulled a scarf out from a pouch and wrapped it around her face. Carefully she inched out from the doorway until she could see the street, empty of any more of her pursuers. Then she started after the two.

She passed them just as they began coughing and stumbling back towards cleaner air, their eyes watering, their prey slipping past. She raced through the heavy, cloying haze, knowing that even if they did see her, they'd never be able to follow her. Not in time to see where she was going, anyway. She heard them shout, but whether it was because she had been spotted, or they were simply trying to find each other in the gloom, she didn't stop to find out.

Around a corner and up a short flight of stairs, and she was clear of the chokedamp. She pulled the scarf down from her face as she panted, hands on her knees. She waited to see if she'd been followed after all, but no one appeared behind her. Smiling to herself, she straightened up and headed for Anders' clinic.

As soon as she opened the door and saw who was there, she had the thought that she would prefer to be back outside, running through the chokedamp.

"Hrodwynn, glad to see you made it home in one piece. I was beginning to grow concerned." Anders' voice was actually sounding a little cheery, which she found odd, however welcomed. But thinking about who was visiting him, she supposed she shouldn't have been surprised.

"I, ah, ran into an old friend on the way home," she lied. "Had to stop and chat for a few minutes. Hello, Hawke." Her voice went flat, even though she tried to smile and act gracious. "You haven't gotten sick or anything, have you?"

He smiled just as coldly; if only she didn't sound so hopeful. "No, no, just visiting with Anders here."

She nodded, taking his lie at face value, neither one fooled by the other. "How's your brother, Carver?" She was trying to play nice, like she was supposed to, asking about his family and friends, acting polite. But just the sight of him was making her blood boil. If only he didn't treat her like a child…

There was a knock on the door, so sudden that all three turned in unison. It continued, a relentless pounding as voices joined it. "Open up! In the name of the City Guard, open the door!"

"What the…?" Hawke's eyes widened for a moment, his jaw dropping and stopping his words.

"Bloody shite," sighed Anders, turning towards Hawke. "Take off your shirt."

"What?" he repeated. There was a sound off to the side, and he turned to see Hrodwynn had disappeared—as well as the ladder that led to her loft. All that remained were her two kittens, mewling around where the base of the ladder was supposed to be. He looked up, but there was no sign of the opening in the ceiling tiles. Damn, she was quick on her feet—he had to give her that.

"Take off your tunic," Anders repeated, helping him get started by undoing the fastenings on his coat, "And sit on the table. Let me do the talking, understand?"

Hawke's brain finally kicked into gear, realizing what Anders meant, and he grudgingly complied. His fingers took over from Anders, allowing him to step back. "I take it this happens often?" His tone was disapproving, sounding like a father who was finding out about a disobedient child.

"Later," was all the explanation Anders would give. He was in a hurry, only waiting to see that Hawke had finished taking off his coat before he went to answer the door and stop the endless pounding. "Yes, alright, I'm answering. What is this?"

Three men burst into the building, several more outside and, by the sound of it, bursting into other nearby buildings. Of the men who entered the clinic, the one in the middle and the leader judging by the rank on his uniform, spoke to Anders. "We have tracked a fugitive from the law to this neighborhood. In the name of the Viscount, you will allow us to search these premises."

"Please, sirs," Anders complained, though mildly. He knew they had no right to search his clinic—in the name of the Viscount indeed—but he also knew he had no way to disprove their claim or deny them access, "This is a clinic, a place of healing. Barging in here like this will upset my patient." He waved his hand behind him without turning around.

The leader harrumphed when he spied Hawke sitting on the table, but refused to back down. "Me and my men are going to search this building. You just ignore us and go back to treating your patient. He looks like he needs it."

Anders blew an exasperated breath out of his nose, but he had no way to defy or get rid of them. Besides, he was confident the guards would soon be frustrated and leave. In all the time Hrodwynn had been living with him, no one had ever found the ceiling panel leading to her loft. He turned back to Hawke, determined to ignore the guards and pretend to treat his 'patient,' and stopped dead in his tracks.

Hawke was sitting stiffly on the table, a pained expression on his face. His left hand wrapped around his chest to grip his right upper arm, a large and bright purple bruise swelling the whole of his shoulder. He lifted watering eyes up to Anders and prompted, "You, ah, you can set it, right, healer?"

For several precious seconds he stood and stared, unable to fathom how such an injury had occurred so quickly. Surely Hawke wouldn't have broken his shoulder, just to protect Hrodwynn. He visually surveyed the damage, from the fresh discoloration to the mild swelling to the hurt shoulder sagging lower than the other.

"Healer?" Hawke asked again, giving him impetus to pull his gaze away from the marred flesh. Hawke's eyes willed him to understand, to catch on and get moving. Minutely and out of sight of the soldiers, the fingers of his right hand made a small, circular gesture, like he was trying to encourage or get Anders to hurry up and…

"Oh! Ah, of course, just a moment," Anders muttered, getting his legs working again.

From her loft, Hrodwynn let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. She was peering through a crack between the tiles, her room dark so nothing but shadow would be seen if anyone bothered to look up. But looking down, she could see a good part of the clinic. She had watched Hawke strip off his tunic, and had to stifle her gasp at the sight of the bruise—she hadn't noticed any indication of the pain he must be feeling. Though she was fairly sure he overacted the part now, wincing and flinching as Anders palpitated the area, she did feel a little sympathy for him pull at her heartstrings—or perhaps that was apprehension when she realized she had left her kittens below.

"Maker's Breath! Do you have to keep touching it?" she heard Hawke grumble, his curses just loud enough to drown out the sad mewling.

"Finish your work, healer," the leader said in a bored tone, turning away from Anders' bedchamber. "We're done here. And give the poor man a draught or something, would you? He's got to be in pain to swear like that."

"Just see yourselves out, and let me do my work, would you?" Anders snipped back. The leader harrumphed again but turned towards the door without another word.

"Sir," one of the guards called out, stopping him as his hand landed on the doorknob. "What's with these cats?"

Anders looked over his shoulder to see Hrodwynn's kittens still searching for a ladder that wasn't there. They hissed at the soldier's boot when he tried to shoo them away from the spot, pouncing on the armored foot in an effort to beat away the invading appendage. Curious, the soldier knelt down and began looking around the area. If he wasn't distracted soon, he just might spy the scuff marks left by the ladder…

"They're cats. They've probably cornered a mouse or something behind the chest." Hawke's explanation was delivered calmly and reasonably, giving Hrodwynn cause to bless him.

"Ah, yes, they're from my cat's first litter," Anders added, catching on, "Snuggles, the best mouser in all of Darktown. Only those two kittens are left."

"My sister's got a mouse problem in her shop," the guard continued, his fingertips stroking one of the furry bodies. It seemed torn between preening over the attention, and searching for that ladder. "She could use a good mouser. What do you say?"

Anders blinked at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"How much for a kitten?" the guard repeated, standing up and holding out the kitten dangling awkwardly in his hands, looking down at its sibling stalking across the floor after them. "I can't afford much, mind you, but my sister could really use a cat, if it's as good of a mouser as you claim."

"I'm sure the healer will sell you the kitten for a reasonable price," the leader sighed, already bored with the subject and impatient to move on. "Just pay the man and let's go. There are still more buildings to search."

"How much?" the man spoke softer, already fishing a few coins out of his pouch. He seemed in a hurry, no doubt reluctant to incur his commander's wrath should he take too long buying the kitten. He had ten coppers in his palm with one shiny silver, and was hunting around for more when Anders decided to just get him out of there.

"Ah… o-o-one silver," Anders stuttered.

He gave a relieved smile to Anders and held his hand out, allowing him to pluck the mentioned coin from him, as his other hand was full of a writhing kitten. The little fur ball must have finally realized it was being taken away, or at the very least was not going to be returned to the ground any time soon, and was scrambling and clawing at the gloved fingers. "Here now, puss, no need to get upset. I know, you'll miss your brother. But I'm taking you to a new home, with lots of lovely little mice to catch. You'll forget about this place and be happy in no time."

The door closed, shutting out the guards and the crying kitten.

The two men were quiet for a count of ten before Anders let out a relieved sort of huff somewhere near a laugh. "I thought we were done for, the way the kittens were looking for that damn ladder."

"I was worried long before that," agreed Hawke, his tone light as he picked up his tunic. "I thought my posing as your patient had been your idea. But all you did was stand there and stare…" His voice trailed away as he saw that Anders was doing just that, standing and staring, again. The corner of his mouth turned upwards, a little slyly, and he began to very slowly put his arms through the sleeves of his tunic. "Like what you see?"

Anders shook himself. Hawke wasn't like other mages, who focused solely on their magical talents and ignored their physical states. Anders realized he had been staring at him, or at his body rather—at the light dusting of black hair mimicking a shadow down the center of his chest, at the muscles that rippled across his stomach as he lifted his tunic up to slip over his head… He coughed and tried to look away, but there was nothing to keep his attention, and Hawke seemed intent on moving ever-so-flirtatiously.

He hopped off the table and walked up to stand a little too close to Anders, as he tucked the hem of his tunic into the front of his leggings. They were nearly the same height, Hawke maybe a fraction of an inch taller, but with both men wearing boots he couldn't tell for sure. Anders caught himself staring again, this time into a pair of light brown—almost amber eyes. They were warm and glowing softly, like a single candle flame in a darkened room, beckoning him closer.

"You… ah…" he took half a step back, but Hawke pursued, "Your shoulder… would you like anything for it?"

"Got it during a little dust up in Lowtown, when I was body-slammed into the floor by a brute of a man." Hawke lifted and shrugged it in a languid circle. "It's a little stiff," he admitted, "But nothing I haven't handled before. I like that little twinge of pain; it lets you know you're alive."

He couldn't entirely be sure, but it seemed they might not be talking about his shoulder any longer.

Hrodwynn took that moment to scrub at the dampness in her eyes and open the ceiling tile. She might have scraped the ladder a little too loudly against the edge, dropped it a little too harshly onto the floor. She didn't care about the noise, neither did she care or notice the guilty start Anders gave away from Hawke. Her thoughts were on her kittens, how stupid she had been to leave them behind when she went into hiding. The remaining one was slinking around, crying for his sibling, pawing at her leg once she was within reach. She bent over and scooped it up, holding it to her face for his comfort, or so she told herself.

Anders cleared his throat. "Ah, Hrodwynn, I-I-I'm sorry," he stuttered, "I… I didn't know what else to do, he was determined to take the kitten, I had no reason to refuse him, if you had only…" No, he shouldn't have tried to blame her for losing one of her kittens, as he could tell by the bright redness on her cheeks that she was already blaming herself.

"It's only a cat," she said, lifting her chin bravely, daring either of them to point out the last few tears still clinging to her lashes. Still, she took her remaining kitten and walked over to the hearth where she began poking around the embers.

"You should go, Hawke."

Anders spoke so quietly, he wasn't sure he had heard him at first. "We weren't done discussing my proposition." His objection was couched in a mild tone, both of them feeling a little awkward around her right then. "I need you…"

"I'm not leaving my clinic!" Anders spoke over his words, perhaps a little too harshly. Both of them could tell Hrodwynn was listening to every single word even though she remained staring at the fire.

Hawke took a heavy breath, determined not to give up. He reached back for his coat lying on the table. "Look, I'm a Force Mage, not a Spirit Healer. And I've been in enough scrapes already, I've come to realize that it's a good idea to have a healer along on these little excursions. Getting hurt inside the city is no problem; there's always help near at hand. But out there, if one of us gets hurt, we can't send someone running down the street to the local merchant's shop to buy a healing potion or poultice." He tried to calm his voice again, setting a hand on Anders' shoulder, "I know, I understand, your clinic is important to you. I wouldn't ask you to leave it, even for a little while, if I didn't need you so badly."

Anders tried hard not to turn and look into those warm eyes. He managed to remain facing away, but he did turn his head far enough to ask, "If it's that important to you, you could always take Hrodwynn."

"What?!" It was hard to say who spoke first, both Hawke and Hrodwynn staring at him with equally incredulous expressions.

Anders sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "It works out perfectly. Hrodwynn, you need to be scarce for a time, if those men earlier were any indication…"

"It was a misunderstanding," she protested, "Nothing was taken! They weren't even city guards, but private ones."

"And Hawke, you need a skilled surgeon. Hrodwynn's helped me in the clinic ever since she moved in. She's gotten very good at it. You know yourself; she's fixed you up before."

"She never…" he stopped, staring at her. She had turned away, hiding her reddening cheeks from him. Damn but the girl blushed a lot.

"It wasn't you?" Anders asked, only slightly confused but not at all deterred, "Your brother, then, or one of the others who fought with you that night you all met. After I healed her nose, she insisted on going back out again. She took a small surgery kit and some healing herbs, saying someone needed a wound closed. I assumed it had been someone in your party."

Hawke's eyes bored holes through her skull, but she refused to look up at him. He knew he hadn't been hurt enough to need stitches, nor had Carver nor Varric. That left… "Fenris?"

She didn't speak, but her silence was answer enough.

"He never said anything about being hurt. Not to me."

She shrugged, finally daring to look at him, "He wouldn't, would he? I only knew, because I saw blood on the wall outside where he had been leaning, after the fight." She felt like a heel, talking about Fenris behind his back like this. If he had wanted Hawke to know about his wound, he would have told him. She really didn't think Fenris would appreciate this conversation, if he ever found out.

Hawke looked at her in a new light, reconsidering. "Alright," he nodded, "I'll take her."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, "Don't I get a say in this?"

Hawke advanced on her, slipping his coat onto his shoulders. "I don't have all night to discuss this."

"Let me, Hawke," Anders stepped between them, his hand held placatingly before him. Amazingly Hawke backed down, which for some obscure reason put Hrodwynn even more on her guard. "Hrodwynn," he began, but after saying that one word, he seemed to change his mind. Sighing he set a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"Wynnie, you know this is a good opportunity for you. Hawke is leaving the city for a few days, not too long, but long enough for things here to settle down," he affected a stern look, "Whatever it was that happened…"

"I didn't steal anything, if that's what you're implying," she crossed her arms with a huff, mindful of the ball of fur purring against her chest.

"You know I've never judged you," he scolded mildly, "Nor have I ever inquired how it is you make your way through life. But things did get out of your control tonight, didn't they?" He waited for her sullen nod before he continued, "So, why not go with Hawke?" He plucked the kitten from her grasp. "He'll need someone with him out there, someone who knows how to close a wound or mix a healing potion. And I… I can't… I know I owe him, but… my clinic…" He let out a heavy breath, holding the kitten close to his cheek. "If it was only for a few hours, or a day at the most, but not for any longer. Too many people need me here."

Hrodwynn made a small face, but she couldn't argue with his logic, damn it! "It's for how long?"

"A few days," Hawke answered. "There's some trouble in a mine, about a day-and-a-half journey from Kirkwall. We'll head out, clear out the mine, and come back before the end of the week."

"When are we leaving?"

"Tomorrow," he tilted his head, wondering if she had just agreed, "Sunrise. I'll take that as a yes, then, shall I?"

Did I have a choice, she thought to herself, but outwardly she said, "Like Anders said, I do sort of need to be out of sight for a few days. And since you might need a healer…" she ended with a shrug. "Where do we meet tomorrow morning?"

"Perhaps," he was thinking quickly as he spoke, not sure of her or her capabilities, other than her apparent talent for patching up wounds. If the soldiers were to come back tonight, and managed to take her into custody, he'd be without any sort of healer. "That is to say, maybe you should come with me tonight, put a little distance between yourself and these misunderstanding private guards. You could spend the night at the Hanged Man, and be ready with the others by the morning."

She nodded, moving away from Anders and heading over to a small dresser against the wall. She picked up a pack that had been lying on the floor next to the dresser, and began rummaging through the drawers for the potions and herbs and other supplies she was going to need. "Do you know what kind of trouble to expect in this mine? Bears? A cave-in? A group of highwaymen?"

"Not a clue," he admitted freely.

She rolled her eyes, but managed to turn her head away before he could see it. "Right. I'll just make sure I'm prepared for everything, then."

"Always advisable," Anders agreed, missing the sarcasm.

"Do you need anything else?" Hawke asked, trying to be solicitous, at least while they were in front of Anders. He could tell the other mage had a soft spot for the little chit, and if he ever wanted to get Anders on his side, he'd have to play nice with Hrodwynn, too. He took the bulging pack from her hands, "A change of clothing? Those knives of yours? You'll never know what we'll come across."

"I'll, ah, just slip up to my loft and get my daggers and cloak. Then I'll be ready."

Hawke watched, slightly impressed by the speed and agility with which she scaled the ladder to her loft. "She climbs like a cat," he hummed to himself.

"She does, yes," Anders gave a small chuckle. He turned serious eyes to Hawke, still holding the purring fur ball in his hands. "Thank you, Hawke, for agreeing to take her with you. I know you would've preferred to have a Spirit Healer, but she'll do nearly as good. And she needs this. I don't know what she did—I never ask, so if I'm ever questioned I can honestly say I don't know—but she's been getting a little reckless as of late. A short trip and some fresh air will do her good, I think. Help her put things in perspective. And," his eyes softened even more, "It will put me further in your debt."

"Yes, well, as you said, it's mutually beneficial," he apparently waved aside the offer. Inwardly he was thinking it would be easier than anticipated to get Anders on his side.

There was no sound this time as the ladder was drawn up into the ceiling. Hrodwynn appeared next, falling through the hole but stopping in time to dangle from the fingers of one hand as she replaced the tile. Next she dropped to the floor, the tile clicking into place, and all her fingers intact.

"Nice trick," Hawke hummed again. "You're quite talented, Hrodwynn, quite agile. I'm sorry I never noticed it before."

She smiled at him, her cheeks pinking and rounding, making her face even more youthful. "Thank you," she murmured, wondering why this other side of him had appeared. He was still holding the bulging pack, which had to be straining his bruised shoulder, yet he showed now sign of distress or fatigue. When she held her hand out for it, he flashed a charming smile at her and slung it over his uninjured shoulder.

"Well, if you're ready, you should probably go," Anders said quietly, "Before those soldiers come back. Stay safe, Wynnie," he hugged her, giving Hawke a little smile of gratitude over her head.

Hawke winked back, "I'll keep her safe, Anders. I promise. Not a hair on her head will be harmed. But he's right," he dropped his gaze to hers, "We should get going."

"Take care to remember to eat once in a while, would you?" was her parting shot to Anders as she and Hawke slipped out the front door.

The streets of Darktown were less crowded than an hour ago, but still had enough traffic for the two of them to blend in with the flow. Hawke pulled her close to his side, not for fear of losing her, but to make them appear more like a couple and not two people who happened to be going in the same direction.

"What are you doing?" she asked, feeling awkward within his embrace. After all, it was an intimate gesture, and she was fairly sure he preferred men.

"Those guards from earlier are just over there," he nodded, but kept his eyes scanning around them. "If they recognize you, we're done for. But they're looking for one girl, not a couple in love." He glanced down at her, and had to smile at the deep red blush spreading across her cheeks, though it was barely noticeable in the dim light.

"But…" she had to look away, not trusting the sudden change in him, or the charming smile, "Your shoulder…"

"Oh, don't worry about that," he hugged her a little tighter, "As I told Anders earlier, nothing's broken, and I can handle a little pain." Yes, he thought to himself, it would be easy to make the chit think he liked her, if it meant she'd go back and tell Anders nice things about him. And Anders was a powerful mage, a powerful ally, if he could only convince him to leave his clinic once in a while.

They passed the soldiers, who didn't give them a second glance.

The rest of the trip was uneventful, allowing them to reach the Hanged Man while it was still at a decent hour. Not that there was anything decent about the tavern. Once more Hrodwynn was hit by that palpable wall of unholy stench, forcing her to breathe through her mouth.

"Hawke! Kitten!" Varric proclaimed when he caught sight of them. "Barkeep! Another round!"

"Wha…?" Merrill plucked her head up, spinning it around. "Kitten?"

"Not you, Daisy," he patted her hand, "The other Kitten."

"I think we're going to have to give one of them a new nickname. They can't both be Kitten, or we'll only confuse them," Isabela said drolly.

"I was calling mine Kitten before you called yours Kitten," Varric rumbled into his mug, determined to finish it before the next round arrived.

"Well, I'm not calling her Daisy. It's too insinuating for one women to say to another. Not unless," Isabela sent a teasing look towards Merrill, "She likes being called Daisy."

"I… oh… you mean… well… I do like flowers…" Merrill stuttered, her cheeks turning pink beneath the tattoos.

Hawke had long since taken his arm from around Hrodwynn's shoulders. He was moving off, taking his usual seat next to Varric. "You could always call her Wynnie; that's what Anders uses."

She felt her cheeks burn again, thinking she might mind being called Wynnie. She looked for a place to sit, and saw both Carver and Fenris shifting to make a spot for her between them. Fenris barely spared her a glance, preferring to hunch over his nearly empty mug. Carver, however, smiled warmly and watched her as she sat down. "Wynnie?" he asked quietly. She didn't think the heat could get any worse, but somehow the nickname on his lips sounded… nice. No, that was too inadequate a term, but she did like the way it made her feel inside, warm and soft and… tingly. Maybe she wouldn't mind being called that, after all. She rewarded him with a small smile and a smaller shrug, and he took her hand beneath the table.

"That reminds me," Varric started, "Where is Anders? I thought you wanted a healer with us."

"I did," Hawke barely kept the disappointment from his voice, "I do, but Anders is unable to leave his clinic for so long. However, it appears Hrodwynn also knows a thing or two about healing." He looked pointedly at Fenris, still a little miffed that the elf had kept something so serious from him. He had thought the two of them were making progress in their relationship—slow steps, undoubtedly, but forward-facing steps.

Fenris had glanced up at the mention of Hrodwynn's heretofore unknown skill, and was held captive by Hawke's piercing gaze. "She does," he agreed, his gravely voice adding more weight than any recommendation from Anders, "Quite a bit, actually." He pulled free from Hawke's eyes and set his gauntleted hand carefully on her shoulder, his voice as soft as his touch and only reaching as far as her ears, "I don't remember if I ever thanked you."

"You didn't," she couldn't look at him, couldn't look at anyone, feeling all their eyes on her like branding irons. "I mean, you didn't need to. Did you ever get someone to take the stitches out?"

"I took care of that myself," he acknowledged.

"Ah, drinks have arrived," announced Varric, slapping the table in anticipation as the mugs were passed out. When everyone had a vessel, including Hrodwynn, he raised his and proclaimed, "Here's to Hrodwynn, a girl of many talents: picking pockets, picking fights, and now a master at picking locks."

"What…?"

"News reached me just before you arrived," he said, his eyes twinkling over the rim of his mug, "About the girl who broke into a Siggerdson-locked chest tonight. She was spotted, but managed to get away. Small, youthful, dark red hair…"

She lifted her chin proudly, but her cheeks belied her words, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Varric and Isabela hooted with laughter at that, the former pirate taking another swig from her mug in salute.

"So, that's why those private guards were after you," Hawke felt the exasperation attempting to form a knot of pain behind his temples. He had known Hrodwynn was in trouble, but he thought it was over picking a nobleman's pocket or something equally trivial and blown all out of proportion. He hadn't bargained for trying to take a fugitive with him past the guards at the city gates. "Whom did you steal from, and what did you take?" he asked, wondering how much the bribes would cost him.

"Nothing was taken," she protested, forgetting she was supposed to be denying breaking into the safe, "Not a damn thing. And no one saw me do it. Sure, I was in the neighborhood, and maybe I was running—who wouldn't when guards start shouting and chasing you? But there's no proof that I did anything." It was a weak attempt to cover her arse, but considering she sat at a table where a pirate captain rubbed elbows with a city guard…

It was as if thinking about Aveline made her have to add to the conversation. "Where?" she sighed. She had been quiet up until now, but she couldn't keep silent any longer. She was in the best position to get Hrodwynn out of trouble, if she wasn't in too deep. A pit of lead began filling her gut as the girl refused to answer, making her turn to Varric.

"The Harbormaster's Office," he replied with a smile. Oh, he was enjoying this.

"Let me get this straight," Aveline drummed her fingers on the table, "You were merely in the neighborhood. No one saw you in the office, correct?" Hrodwynn nodded. "No one saw you anywhere near the safe, not even in the same room as the safe?"

"No one," she finally looked up, surprised that the look on her face wasn't as dire as she expected. "Ah, because it wasn't me, I mean…"

"Don't lie to me, Hrodwynn," Aveline sighed again, "You can keep the truth from me, that's fine; but don't outright lie, understood? I'm trying to help you here."

"Yes, ma'am," she nodded, staring back at the table again. Hrodwynn grew quiet, thinking that this night couldn't get any worse. First she was spotted leaving through the side door of the office. Next she got chased almost all the way back to Anders' clinic, which led to one of her kittens being sold. Then she got strong-armed into going along on one of Hawke's little excursions—as if she wanted to spend any time with him. And now she felt like she did the first time she had gotten caught picking a man's pockets, being scolded and talked down to and finally left off with a stern warning.

"Do your men call you ma'am, or sir?" Isabela asked, slightly off topic.

"Sir," Aveline answered without missing a beat. "Hawke, I don't see any problems. Yes, a girl was spotted, and Hrodwynn matches the description of the person of interest…"

"But it wasn't Hrodwynn," Varric gestured with his mug, playing along. "She's been here with me all afternoon. Isn't that right, Kitten?"

"Oh, yes, of course, I get it," answered Merrill.

"See? I told you," hummed Isabela in a sing-song voice.

"Still," Aveline attempted to wrestle control of the conversation back, "It would be best if she wasn't without a friend or two nearby tonight. Just in case."

"She could stay with us," offered Carver, eagerly.

"Wonderful," droned Hawke, "I can just imagine what our uncle would say: 'Oh, look, you've brought home yet another stray.' No, Carver, our place is crowded enough as it is. I was hoping instead that she could stay here."

"No good," Varric shook his head. "I saw a small entourage of mercenaries check in earlier; there won't be an empty room to be had tonight."

Hawke was unwilling to admit defeat. "Isabela?"

"What? Oh, you want us to share a room? Ah, well, normally I'd love to," she answered, "But tonight I… ah… happened to be booked solid until the morning." She glanced over at a side table, where one of the aforementioned mercenaries winked at her.

Varric leaned back a little, looking Hrodwynn over from head to toe, or at least over what showed above the table. "I suppose I wouldn't mind sharing, for one night. We're both small enough to fit in one bed…"

"Not going to happen," Carver placed a protective hand on her shoulder, causing Varric to laugh.

"I'm crushed that you find me untrustworthy, Junior. My intentions are perfectly honorable. Why doesn't anyone ever believe me?"

"Oh, I know this one: because you're too good at bullshitting," Merrill chirped.

"She could stay with me," offered Fenris.

Hrodwynn had been wrong earlier; the night had just gotten worse. She realized she had sat still for too long, letting the others decide her fate. Just as she opened her mouth to protest, to even say she'd rather go back to Anders' for the night, Aveline put her weight behind Fenris' suggestion. "That would be best, I think. Hightown is far enough removed from the Docks, no one should think of looking for her there. And there's less likelihood of her being spotted by these private soldiers if we leave tomorrow morning through the Hightown gates."

"That's settled then," Isabela announced. "Hrodwynn will spend the night with Fenris, and we'll all meet at sunrise by the Hightown gates. Now, excuse me," she pushed herself away from the table, "I have another—pressing—appointment."

Hawke looked like he had swallowed a lemon. Whole. Carver also didn't look too pleased with the situation, but the only other option was to send her with Merrill, which was also too close to the Docks. "We should probably get going," Aveline announced, also standing. "That is, if you don't mind, Fenris. I should be getting back to the barracks, and there would be less of a chance of being accosted if I walked with the two of you."

"Any private guard or mercenary would think twice about grabbing Hrodwynn, no matter how much she might match the description of a fugitive, if she was in the company of the future Captain of the City Guard," he agreed, also standing. Hrodwynn had no choice but to follow suit, reluctantly leaving Carver's warm side.

"Ah, just let me get my pack," she said quietly, walking around to Hawke who held the bulging sack out for her. Fenris was there ahead of her, taking the heavy pack and effortlessly placing it over his shoulders. She didn't say anything else, other than return the smile Carver flashed at her as she fell into step behind the two warriors.

Yup, today was a hot steaming pile of shit. And the rest of the week would be spent with Hawke and his friends, listening to the banter and the baiting and the innuendos. All of it culminating at some remote mine that was experiencing some sort of unknown trouble.

She kicked at an unoffending pebble in the street, sending it skittering just past Fenris' ankle. If only she had found something useful in that Maker damned safe! But it had been full of pages of paper, filled with twisted lines of indecipherable ink…

"Keep up with us, Hrodwynn," Aveline called back. She was sure the tone was meant to be kind, but it sounded like nagging just then. Fenris, however, turned and looked at her, his expression as indecipherable as those papers had been, before he held out his hand.

She looked at it, at the lyrium marks showing faintly across his palm and down his fingers. He had told her, any touch against those marks caused him pain. Yet he was holding out his hand for her to take, to touch those markings, knowing full well what the consequences would be, and that she understood what it cost him as well. She jogged up and took hold, letting him pull her closer to his side.

It seemed she had earned the trust of the wolf.


	6. The Lair of the Wolf

**A/N: sorry, my dears, that it's been so long since I've updated. My Muse was a naughty boy and ran away from home. I suppose it was my own fault, giving him free reign and all that :B This past week, however, he's been sneaking back into my life, coming up behind me to whisper sweet nothings in my ear, tickling my imagination, and then spinning away and running off before I can reach around and wrestle him into submission! Not that I would do that, because he gets pouty when I force him to inspire me. And besides, when he does it of his own free will, he's so very good…**

***ahem* Anyway, he's back now, sitting behind me, rubbing my shoulders as I type, filling my thoughts with all sorts of yumminess…**

**But then I went and sliced the side of my thumb, right where I hit the space bar. I hope you appreciate the pain I've gone through these past few days, finally feeling inspired to write, yet every word hurting (and every sentence twice as much).**

**Chapter Six: The Lair of the Wolf**

The door closed behind Hrodwynn with a solid thud, the heavy echo ringing out to be swallowed by the darkness before her. She tried—and failed—to resist the urge to swallow, apprehension making a tight knot in her chest. She had been fine up to this point, walking between Aveline and Fenris in the growing evening shadows, but now that they were here at his mansion, now that Aveline had left her alone with him, now she was…

Not scared. No, whatever it was she felt whenever she looked at Fenris, it wasn't fear. She knew he was a powerful and ruthless fighter, but she also knew he wouldn't harm her. It was more… wariness? Nervousness? Concern?

Maybe she was simply tired? She paused her steps to scrub at an eye, blinking away the fatigue, fighting to stay alert. It had been a long day, after all, and even that arrogant arse Hawke would have to admit to being a little weary if he gone through all she had…

Picking a lock that could kill her if she made even the slightest error…

Racing through the Docks and then Darktown, through the chokedamp, trying to give her pursuers the slip…

Hiding in her loft…

Losing one of her kittens…

Hawke acting nice towards her—thought that didn't last…

Walking all the way to Hightown…

And she hadn't had a bite to eat since…

She dropped her hand away from her eyes with a startled gasp. Fenris had disappeared. She had been following him, his white hair bobbing before her even in the dank and dusty mansion, but when she had stopped to rub at her eyes, he had slipped from sight. All around her were dark shadows falling across darker floor tiles, slipping around darker corners, fading into darker doorways. She had a brief notion that the mansion might be haunted, that the ghosts of the shades they had fought were still here, waiting for the night, waiting for her return, waiting for…

A light bloomed into being off to the side and above, highlighting Fenris' face in a golden glow. She jumped at the sudden light, a small squeak escaping her. She clamped her lips together and told herself to stop acting so childish. Yes, the mansion was dark, and oh-so-very-empty with only Fenris living here, but that didn't mean there were ghosts waiting in the shadows.

Do shades even have ghosts? Weren't they sort of ghosts themselves?

Fenris had noticed when she stopped following him, but he didn't comment. The whole way here he had sensed her exhaustion through her stumbling steps, her murmured responses, her general inattention. She had barely acknowledged Aveline's departure, mutely waving a good night and falling into place behind him. When she paused to rub at her eyes, he had left her alone in the main hall, climbing the steps to the upper balcony. He reached his chamber, slipping inside just long enough to light a splinter of wood from the fire in the hearth, before returning to the hallway to light one of the lamps.

As he turned up the wick, flooding the area with light, he heard a startled squeak from below. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, standing there with a hand pressed over her mouth, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed, her limbs trembling with exhaustion. He turned to face her, and to his eyes at first she looked so small, so vulnerable, so alone in the gloom of the main hall. Then the light shining behind him set off her vibrant, indefatigable colors—the dark red tunic so perfectly matching her hair, the locks falling haphazardly across her forehead and temples. Her green eyes glittered, the moisture caused by her exhaustion making them sparkle like finely cut emeralds. Even the paleness of her skin seemed to glow, to push away the black surrounding her, making her shine like a beacon on a dangerous cliff.

Or a siren, one who called sailors to their doom, considering the self-destructive impulse he felt to take her in his arms and…

"Sorry, I, ah," she spoke, mercifully breaking into his thoughts, "I guess I took a wrong turn, didn't see you head upstairs…" Her voice trailed away in the brunt of his silence. She cleared her throat before heading over to the base of the steps, taking them as quickly as she dared. Her feet stumbled, the tip of her boot catching on the ledge of the top step, sending her head first into…

…into his arms. She got a face-full of his cuirass, but it was preferable to the floor. He held onto her while she got her feet beneath her and strengthened her knees, his gauntlets tight but careful around her limbs, the lethally sharpened tips held carefully away from her. Once she felt steady enough, she turned her attention to him, slowly lifting her gaze upward, thinking to herself how the lyrium on his neck reminded her of a cage, or the two lines marking his chin seemed to imitate an unearthly goatee. She looked up towards his eyes, a timidly thankful smile on her lips, but the expression she found made her smile fade into the shadows.

He barely registered the slow lifting of her face, his meditative focus on the struggle going on within his soul. He should be discouraging her, pushing her away, for her own protection, not holding her in his hands, his muscles twitching from the effort of resisting the compulsion to pull her closer. It felt good—felt so damn selfishly good—to touch another person, to feel warm skin beneath his, soft and smooth and pale. To have someone near, someone to share a conversation with, someone whose eyes sparkled when she felt mirthful, someone whose face turned heart-shaped whenever she smiled.

Unbeknownst to him his expression darkened. Venhedis, he swore under his breath, wondering what he was he doing. He had invited her to spend the night with him, just the two of them in the mansion. He told himself he hadn't extended the invitation for any other reason than the repayment of a debt. She had come to him one night, to tend a wound he didn't even know he had, and had asked for nothing in return. His invitation this evening, his offer of protection for one night, was only a repayment of that debt. Nothing more. It couldn't be anything more.

"Sorry, again, I, ah, I guess I'm a bit tired. Long day and all."

Her tone was apologetic, embarrassed, her cheeks turning pink even before she could drop her gaze. Quickly he realized he had been staring, and tried to think of an excuse for his scrutiny. Carefully he brushed a sweat-matted lock of hair behind her ear, mindful of the sharp tips to his gauntlets. "Yes, I imagine it has been tiring." He let go of her and stepped aside, trying to remain aloof, formal, the perfect gentleman.

Hrodwynn barely kept herself from flinching while his taloned fingers brushed the hair from her cheek. She had felt it earlier—the trembling of his muscles—when he had caught her and kept her from tripping, and decided it was due to pain. It had to be torture for him, the lyrium etched into nearly every part of his skin, tracing every finger, so no matter what he touched it caused him agony. She felt those hot tears returning as she tried to distract herself from the sympathy welling up inside her. She knew the proud elf would only resent her for showing him pity. "Been nonstop since before noon. First the job for Brekker, then the chase through half of Kirkwall, the worse half, then having to hide while they searched Anders' clinic, then Hawke and this all-important job of his. And to top it off, I lost one of my kittens!"

To her horror, the tears spilled past her lashes, leaving incriminating trails down her cheeks. She tried to brush them away quickly, not wanting him to see her cry, not wanting to give him even the slightest cause to suspect they could be in part for him. She sniffed and looked away, hoping to spy something to distract her, distract him…

"Have you eaten yet this evening?" He had inferred how tired she must be feeling, but hearing how incoherently she babbled her words, and seeing how quickly the tears came, he began to have more suspicions. At his question, her stomach rumbled, causing her cheeks to redden even further.

"Excuse me," she mumbled, "I, ah, no, I haven't had the time. I had meant to grab a bite of something at the Hanged Man, but I didn't end up staying there long enough."

"Trust me; it was for the best. Tonight's mystery meat was fish." He gave a shudder, making a disgusting sound, almost like he had vomited. She half expected a puddle of sick at his feet. "Hardly palatable."

She nodded, thinking it was expected of her, not really sure where this conversation was going, but glad that it gave her time to get the tears under control. She made one last swipe at her cheeks before facing him again.

He watched her turn back around, saw her lost and vulnerable expression, and felt the need to get some air. "I'm afraid I don't have anything to offer you here. I usually eat at the Hanged Man myself, but I couldn't stomach it tonight. Why don't I head out and pick up something for our dinner?" He didn't wait for her answer, but started down the steps as if she had already agreed.

"I could go with you!" she offered eagerly, coming up behind him, both hands gripping the railing as she leaned against it.

Her words stopped him, the keen tone making him turn back. He took one look at her bloodshot eyes, her pale and sweaty face, her trembling hands, and knew she wouldn't have the strength. Yet he hardly doubted that she would accept that for a reason; she was too spunky and determined to prove herself capable. "No, you're not supposed to be seen, remember? Pick a room for your use tonight, make yourself at home, I won't be long."

He turned away before he could see her face fall.

Hrodwynn stood at the top of the stairs, watching his white hair fade into gray as he strode away, his form quickly swallowed by the shadows of a doorway. A moment later, she heard the main door open and close, and she realized she was all alone in the mansion.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there, gripping the railing and staring at the place where he'd disappeared, but she knew she would eventually have to move. Giving herself a little shake, she spoke aloud to try to banish her silly fears. "Well, Hrodwynn, don't just stand there acting like a twit. You've got things to do, so stop wasting time."

Though talking didn't make much progress towards dispersing the unease she felt, she nevertheless lifted her chin and turned on the spot, heading towards the only lighted lamp in the hallway. It was just outside Fenris' room, and for reasons she didn't want to name, she felt it would be best if she stayed in one of the rooms next to his. She picked the nearer one, set her hand on the latch, and opened the portal.

The sight that greeted her did little to calm her nerves. "Oh, perfect, just… perfect," she sighed, seeing nothing inside but more shadows. Of course it was pitch black in the room. Fenris wouldn't have the shutters open, not wanting the neighbors to see an elf—a former slave—squatting in a mansion in the middle of Hightown. She could make out some furniture within, but they were nothing more than indistinct shapes and lumps that made no sense to her. She cast about the hallway, hoping to spy a table with candles or something equally helpful, but the area was unsurprisingly void of anything useful or convenient.

"Suppose it makes sense," she groused, "Since he doesn't use any room but his, everything useful like a spare candle would be kept in there, right?" She looked at the door in question, and feeling a little like she was spying on him, she opened his door and slipped inside.

As she suspected, Fenris' room was nothing like the rest of the mansion. It was warm and bright, thanks to a well-stocked hearth and a recently stoked fire. It was also in a lived-in sort of disarray. There was a table, cleared except for her bulging pack and a few chairs tucked around it. Beyond that was his bed, the bedclothes rumpled and slightly off-center. A greatsword leaned against the bedpost with a cleaning rag draped over the hilt. A half-finished bottle of some sort of wine sat forgotten on a bench in front of the hearth, an empty bowl near the edge. Bits of butcher paper lay crumpled in front of the hearth, as if after finishing whatever food had been wrapped inside, he had meant to toss the empty paper into the fire, but missed. There was a bookshelf in the corner, crammed haphazardly with an array of items, among them a couple bottles of healing potions mixed in with several bottles of wine, an empty scabbard—probably for the greatsword, and a satchel with an odd shaped lump within. She half expected to see some spare tunics bunched in a corner or the like, but she doubted he owned any clothing other than his dark, leathery armor. The room looked… well, compared to the rest of the mansion, compared to the first time she had been in here, the room easily looked quite homey.

She snapped herself out of her reverie, suddenly thinking what Fenris would say if he came back to find her snooping in his room, her heart quickening a little at his imagined ire. She grabbed a splinter of wood from the pile beside the hearth, lit the end of it, and with her satchel in hand she headed for the door.

In the hallway once more, she stopped long enough to close his door and drop her pack beneath the lighted lamp. Then, with the splinter supporting a single and rather large flame, she entered the dark room. She left the door opened behind her, wanting every bit of light she could scrounge, and lifted the splinter up above her head, casting soft and flickering light around her. She turned on the spot, her mouth opened with amazement, as she began to make out what was in the room.

"No wonder there's no windows," she murmured, spying the chamberpot behind a screen, a large copper tub off to the side, a stack of towels on a small cabinet in the corner. "It's the water closet."

The next moment happened too quickly for her to follow. The splinter burned down to her fingertips, the flame going out as she gave a small cry of alarm and dropped the splinter to the floor. Without the flame, the room was thrown back into pitch darkness, the same darkness as the rest of the mansion, the mansion where she had helped fight sinister shades and hungry demons and arcane horrors…

Unable to think, only able to feel and feeling only fear and the undeniable need to run, she spun on the balls of her feet and raced for the door. Unfortunately, in her heedless and headlong pelt, her aim was off—or rather it was too good. She hit the door squarely with her face, the force of the impact sending it crashing closed and her bouncing backwards to land heavily on the floor.

For several seconds she lay there, unable to tell if her eyes were open or closed, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Yet the longer she lay there, the longer nothing happened, and she eventually began to realize there were no more shades or horrors in the dark. The room was just the same as it was when she could see it. Other than her own form sprawled across the floorboards.

"Hrodwynn you ninny," she said to herself. "Stand up and find the bloody door."

She wiped the tears off her cheeks and sniffed into her sleeve as she scrambled around to her hands and knees, and then pushed herself to her feet. Carefully, cautiously, her arms extended before her, she took little shuffling steps until her hands came into contact with the wall. A few moments casting to either side, and she felt the doorframe.

When the golden light from the hallway burst round the door, she couldn't stop the single grateful sob swelling upwards from her chest. She took a moment to blink in the light, before stepping out into the hallway and closing the door behind her. Maybe a little too firmly, but she chose not to notice. She sniffed again and got back to business.

She walked past Fenris' chamber to the door on the other side, straightened her shoulders, and shoved it open. This room was a little better; even without any lighted candle or lamp, it wasn't as dark as the other room. The shutters were open, one drape pulled back to allow light to shine through the window, moonlight painting the floorboards with silver, as torchlight from the streets cast flickering gold across the ceiling. There was a bed off to the side, a wardrobe with a chest on one side and a dressing table on the other, even a hearth already stacked with kindling, wanting only a flame.

"Much better," she said with a short nod and set about making the room livable, at least for one night. She set her sack on a nearby chest and picked a candle from mantle. She lit the wick from the lamp in the hallway, and returned to coax a fire into life within the hearth. She pulled closed the drapes, shook out the linens on the bed, and sat down on it to unpack and repack her satchel.

She had stuffed items in there at random, not knowing what Hawke expected to find other than 'trouble.' She wanted to take the time, now that she had some, to repack it carefully and thoughtfully, with the items she was most likely to need towards the top—like healing potions, and the more potent or less useful items beneath—like the salve for burns. She also placed a few rolls of bandages at the very bottom, to help protect the bottles and jars from breaking. It wasn't any lighter or less cumbersome than before, but it was more efficiently packed.

"You were in my room."

The tone wasn't as accusatory as the words, but Hrodwynn gave a guilty start regardless. Fenris was standing in the open doorway, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed over his chest and an amused sort of smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. When she lifted her face towards him, however, his expression grew concerned. She watched, alarmed, as he pushed himself off the wall and stalked over to where she sat on the bed. She couldn't help the flinch this time as a gauntleted hand extended towards her.

He froze, confused by her reaction, his hand hanging in the space between them. He had taken longer than intended to find them some food, deciding he should use the opportunity to get a little extra air, clear his head, cool his blood. It had seemed to work; by the time he got back to the mansion his mind was focused once more, no longer distracted by images of emerald eyes and apple-red hair. Even when he came to her room and stood in the doorway, watching her finish tying her satchel closed, he felt collected, confident, even to the point of teasing her a little.

She had lifted her face at the sound of his voice, and he had seen the blood. He had to touch her, to make sure she was alright, to find out how she could have hurt herself in the short time he was gone. When she pulled away from him, when the apprehension flared in her eyes, he couldn't understand why she would fear him.

Then he noticed his metal-incased, taloned-tipped fingers. With a muttered curse, he pulled his hand away to remove the offensive item. "Forgive me. I forgot I was still wearing my gauntlets. But… what happened to you?"

She sniffed, watching him warily as his free hand pulled her to her feet. "What do you mean?" she asked, staring at lyrium-laced fingers, long and lean, reaching out to tentatively dab at her upper lip. She winced, feeling the bruise she hadn't noticed yet, and stared at the red staining the tips of his fingers as he pulled away. "I…" she sniffed again and wiped her upper lip on her sleeve, trying to get a look at how much blood was there, but the dark red fabric had been hiding the evidence. "Oh, bloody Void."

Hrodwynn grimaced, remembering her little mishap in the water closet. She must have broken the skin of her upper lip against the edge of the door.

He didn't speak again, but took her hand and led her into the hallway. The door to his room was open, a delicious aroma drifting out towards them, making her mouth water. "Is that," she paused to sniff, thankful she was able to do so despite the bruising and bleeding, "Chicken?" On the table was a lumpy satchel, the source of the smells. Her feet tried to go there despite his grip on her hand.

"We'll clean up your lip first," he steered her past the table towards the bench in front of the fire, "Then dinner."

She gave in, reluctantly, allowing him to set her on the bench. She even stayed put while he rummaged around for a clean towel and some water, though her eyes remained gazing at the table. She only looked away when he broke into her line of sight, sitting in front of her and taking hold of her chin, tilting her face towards the light from the fire so he could see better. "Well?" he prompted, dabbing gently at the half-dried blood around the small cut. "What happened?"

She risked a glance at his face, and saw only the same warmth and compassion, and mild curiosity, that was in his voice. Her cheeks continued to burn, however, as she sputtered some sort of explanation, while trying not to move her lips too much. "I, ah, went looking, for a room, and found the water closet, but it was dark, and when I turned to leave, the door was sort of there…" Her voice trailed away, deciding to leave out the part of her falling flat on her arse, or her fears about ghosts of shades and demons.

"Didn't I tell you not to use your face as a shield?" He meant it teasingly, and she gave a little tremble that might have been part laughter, but it wasn't quite. Fenris took a moment to study her carefully, noting the redness of her cheeks as well as the moisture from unshed tears clinging to her lashes. There was undoubtedly more to the story than she was telling, but seeing as how she was only a little hurt—and greatly embarrassed—over what actually happened, he decided to let the matter go. He finished cleaning up the blood and pointed towards the shelf in the corner. "There are some healing potions on that shelf. Just a sip should be enough."

"It's not that bad, is it?"

"It will be by morning," he predicted. He didn't wait for her acquiescence, but stood and headed back towards the table. He began removing items from the satchel and setting out their supper, confident that she would do what she had been told.

And she was going to do as she was told, but she couldn't help feeling a surly impulse to stick her tongue out at him. His back was to her, however, so he wouldn't have noticed it if she had acted childishly. Giving in she trudged tiredly over to the shelf, picked up one of the bottles of healing potions and uncorked it. She was about to take a sip when she spied the satchel. She had seen it earlier, and the strange lump inside it, but something new had attracted her attention… the lump was moving!

Fenris heard the bottle drop followed by a muffled shout, like a call for help stopped by a hand to the mouth. He was instantly alert, spinning and lunging towards her, expecting danger or trouble or slavers or…

…anything but what he found. She was standing with her hand over her own mouth, her eyes filling with tears as she struggled not to cry. He followed her gaze towards the bookshelf and an extra satchel he stored there, and finally understood when a brown furry head poked itself out of the opening. It was his kitten, the same one he had taken home after that night in the Hanged Man. He reached out to pick up the ball of fur, the animal purring loudly and gripping his fingers tight.

"I forgot, Cassia likes to hide and jump out at me. It's a game she plays. I should have warned you, but I had no idea she was hiding there."

Hrodwynn shook her head , somewhat in control of herself once more. "No, it's alright. May I?" she reached out for the kitten, and he willingly placed her in Hrodwynn's hands. She smiled, forgetting her tiredness and fright in the force of the kitten's purrs. "Hello, there! How are you? You look fit. Been finding a lot of mousies, have you?" she cooed, holding the kitten to her face.

"She's kept herself fed, whenever I've been unable to provide for her," Fenris admitted, picking up what was left of the healing potion. It would be enough for Hrodwynn's lip, but he'd give it to her later; the kitten was doing her more good than a potion could. "You were right; she's a very good mouser."

"Her mother's the best in Darktown."

"So you've claimed," he agreed dryly. "She's even shared her bounty with me on occasion."

She smiled privately at that, finally composed enough to meet his eyes over the top of the kitten's head. "She likes you."

Some sort of twitch pulled at the corner of his mouth, and for a moment his pale green eyes showed a little light of… something, something living and warm. "Indeed." He reached out to stroke the kitten's cheek, the purring increasing at his touch.

"What did you call her?"

"Cassia," he answered, leading them back to the table. He already had a small platter prepared for the kitten, which he set on the floor off to the side.

"Cassia," she repeated, allowing the kitten to squirm out of her grasp so she could get to her supper. "That's a beautiful name. What does it mean?"

He reached down to stroke the kitten, and she lifted her face from her little feast to acknowledge his attention. "It's a Tevene word for cinnamon. Her color reminded me of the spice, and she seems to like it."

If the thunderous vibrations were anything to go by, Hrodwynn believed him. She sat down at the table with a heavy thump. "I lost one of my kittens today."

He looked at her closely when she suddenly spoke, the words abrupt and harsh and full of emotion, and remembered she had said something similar earlier that evening. He saw her eyes try to fill with tears again, and the brave way she lifted her chin, as if daring him to mention the dampness. He allowed her what pride she could salvage, yet passed her the healing potion and asked, "What happened?"

She sniffed, though from suppressed tears this time, and took a sip before answering, "When those guards followed me home, and were searching for me, I hid in my loft over the clinic. I can lift the ladder up behind me and close the ceiling tile, and no one can tell I'm up there. Only I forgot to bring my kittens with me. They kept crying around where the ladder should be. And one of the guards saw them, and asked Anders if he could buy one, because his sister has a mouse problem in her shop."

"And Anders sold your kitten." He managed to put a lot of anger and contempt into the name. Now he understood why she was overly emotional tonight, and who had caused it.

"It's not like he had a choice, or any excuse to refuse the guard. He had to, before they figured out why the kittens were upset. Really it's my own fault for not remembering to take them with me…" She finally managed to stop the flow of words, but only because her emotions were choking her voice. She downed the rest of the bottle, hoping he would let the matter drop.

He didn't like the way she defended the man—the abomination—but considering she lived with him, or rather he had given her a place to sleep, Fenris supposed it was natural for her to feel some loyalty towards him. He dropped the subject, not wanting to cause her more upset tonight, but he promised himself he would find a way to discourage her from liking Anders, if only to save her from his insanity. But that would be for another time.

Hrodwynn had turned her attention to the food on the table. Her eyes locked onto the chicken which he'd already carved, the skin covered with rosemary and sage and a deep golden color that told her it had been cooked with lots of butter. There was also a small apple tart, three vegetable pasties which were quite cold, several rolls hardened from sitting out all day, and more than a few apples. She immediately grabbed a drumstick and took a bite, too hungry to wait for manners, and said around the mouthful, "Pretty lucky you found a shop open this late."

"The shop wasn't exactly open," Fenris reluctantly allowed.

"You stole it?" she asked. Already the healing potion was helping her to feel better, relaxing her and relieving her anxieties as it healed the small cut. "You. Fenris. You broke into a shop to steal some food."

Fenris held himself stiffly, his posture straight, his expression set with dignity. "I assure you, there was no breaking involved. Stealing, yes, but no breaking. When the owners arrive in the morning, there will be no sign I was there, other than some missing groceries."

"How'd you manage it?" she asked around a mouthful of pastie. "I can't help but to leave a scratch or two when picking a lock, and I'm good. I know what I'm doing. You're a fighter; you're not supposed to know how to pick a lock—unless there's more to you than I thought." She leaned forward and asked, "Are you a thief, too?"

Fenris thought for a moment that she might be teasing him, but remembering the potion she had just taken, he figured that was more likely to be affecting her actions. He set aside the roll he had been chewing to answer, "I used my special talent to reach inside the door and pick the lock."

"You mean," Hrodwynn paused to swallow the last bite of pastie, wanting to give him her full attention, "That thing you do, with your hand, the pushing it into a man's chest. You can do that with other things, like doors and locks?"

"Of course," he spoke like it should have been obvious.

"Oh, I thought… never mind." She dropped her gaze, going back to the chicken, picking at a large chunk of breast meat.

"What?"

"I only thought… I mean… that thing… what d'you call it?… your talent…" she glanced up at him, and saw he was watching her passively, not judgmental at all, simply waiting for her to come to a point. Feeling a little less silly, she found the courage to admit her ignorance, "I thought that you could only do it to people."

"I can do it to anything," he stated in a mild tone, "Animal, vegetable, or mineral." To prove his point, he passed his hand through the chicken and the table beneath it.

She watched the markings glow, the lyrium an eery blue-white that was stronger than the lamplight. She could also see other lines glowing, deep within his flesh, besides those on the surface of his skin. She could imagine the lyrium, running through his limbs like veins, some even going bone deep, or twisting between his organs. And he had admitted the markings hurt.

She got a little more of an insight into his existence than she wanted.

"What about your armor?" she asked, trying to distract herself. "How come, when you use your talent to pass through stuff, you don't pass through your own armor, too?"

"It was made specifically for me," Fenris responded. "Called Grafted Spirit Hide, it was infused with lyrium in a ritual similar to what I endured, so it phases through objects with me. Any other clothing or armor would fall away."

"Oh," she made the shape of the sound with her lips more than voiced it. "Still, that's a useful talent, I mean, picking a lock without leaving behind any scratches, just reaching in there and…" she made a little hooking motion with her fingers. "I'd love to team up with you sometime."

He could see her eyes were beginning to glaze, undoubtedly due to the healing potion. It had been too potent for her injury, leaving her dazed and talkative, though at least she had managed to eat something. "From what I gather, you do quite well without me." When she tilted her head, somewhat confused, he added, "The Siggerdson earlier today." He watched her cheeks fill with color yet again.

"Oh, that, well, I, ahem, that wasn't…"

"That wasn't you?" he finished, one jet black eyebrow lifting skeptically.

She knew he knew she had broken into the safe, but after the day she had, the elation she should be feeling after a successful job was perversely missing. Actually, everything was kind of removed and growing fuzzy around the edges. "Ah, well, yes, it was me. I did it. I broke into the Harbormaster's Office and picked the Siggerdson lock on his safe."

"I assume there was a reason?" he asked, curious despite his earlier resolve to keep out of her life, and keep her out of his.

"It's… rather complicated," she hedged. She left the chicken for him to finish and picked up an apple in her left hand. "I, ah, there are some people I work for. Very private people, so don't ask me any questions about them. And, yes, the work I do is illegal. So what? So's half the jobs in this city. I bet even Hawke's done a few illegal acts."

Fenris didn't comment, knowing the truth of her words.

"Anyway," for some stupid reason she couldn't stop talking, the words spilling out of her mouth, threatening to take every little secret of hers with them, "I was supposed to only open the safe, not take anything, make it look like I had just picked it when someone happened to 'discover' me in the act. I'd run, he'd give chase, but I'd get away."

"Only you didn't get away."

"No," she sighed, "I didn't. Got spotted by some guards other than the who'd been bribed to let me get away." She finished her apple, and disconsolately tossed the core onto her plate. "It was my own fault. I took too long, because I stopped to try to find something in the safe."

"What?"

She tried pressing her lips closed in an effort not to speak, but was still unable to help herself. "Something about a ship a few years back, I guess, some sort of name or date or… something. Doesn't matter. It was a stupid thing to try, anyway."

"Why?"

"Because I can't read! So even if I did find something, I wouldn't know it, would I? I'd just… I was hoping… I don't know!"

She pushed away from the table, feeling those tears returning, hating herself for how emotional and childish and… and… everything she acted. She wanted to run away, to get out of that room, away from him, away from the way she kept talking. Anders was nice and proper, never asking questions about her activities or her past, but Fenris kept asking and she kept answering and…

In her haste to leave the table, she had knocked it hard enough to rattle a few of the dishes. One bottle in particular fell to the floor, the healing potion, drawing her attention, and some of the fuzziness around her thoughts began to clear. She should have recognized the taste. It was a potent potion, meant for serious injuries. It also had the tendency to make a person talkative before knocking them out. She supposed it wouldn't normally matter for Fenris, who lived alone and therefore had no one to hear him talk. But she had taken the potion, and she was babbling, and she knew very soon she'd be asleep. Thankfully there hadn't been much left of it, but she should leave now for bed, or she might not make it. She truly intended to speak her excuses and leave, but Cassia took that moment to decide she wanted some more attention. With the kitten mewling at her ankle, she couldn't resist and scooped the warm little body up into her arms. Burying her face in her fur, a strange thought popped into her head.

Fenris' mind had been on a different tact entirely. After her little outburst, he had been sitting quietly, chastising himself for having thoughtlessly hurt her feelings. He knew how painful and awkward it could be, trying to make one's way in the world, unable to read. He could easily imagine her shame and embarrassment, as he shared it. He had gathered every single scrap of paper he could find in this mansion, saved and tucked them away in a chest, thinking that perhaps somewhere on one of the pages was a message or a note stating where Danarius had gone, or when he would return. And every time he spoke with Hawke, he tried to find the courage to admit his shortcomings, and find the strength to ask for his help.

And every single time, his throat would tighten and the words would dry up.

Yet he felt he could admit his illiteracy to her, if only because she shared it. She understood the shame, the awkwardness, the inhibitions. He truly meant to speak, to tell her he was also unable to read, to ease them past the uncomfortable moment.

But she spoke first. "Fenris, can I ask you a question?"

He blinked at her. She had started back towards the table, Cassia in her arms, her steps beginning to grow unsteady. The potion was having its final effect, and she would undoubtedly be asleep inside a few minutes. He stood to take the kitten from her before she dropped her, and answered, "Yes?"

"Are you… um… what's the word… bi…?"

He couldn't speak right away, unable to believe she was asking what she was asking. It was no doubt due to the potion, but he had no idea how to answer her. Or if he should answer her. Or what the answer would be. Instead he took her arm and steered her towards the door, stalling while he tried to think of what to say.

"Um… I can't think…" she murmured, more than willing to walk with him while her brain focused on muddling through what she was trying to ask, "It's… when you speak more than one language."

He stopped out in the hallway, but she continued for a few extra steps, not realizing he wasn't there. Three full seconds passed before he could find his voice. "Bilingual."

She twirled around to face him, gave a little smile and snapped her fingers. "That's the word. Bilingual. Are you bilingual?"

Again he took her by the arm, and again she didn't resist his guidance. "I, ah, yes, I've learned the common tongue spoken here in the Free Marches," he managed to maneuver her around the doorway and into her room, "But Tevene is my mother tongue."

She nodded, "It must be hard, trying to remember what language to speak. Is that why you say things like Benefaris? What does it mean, anyway, Benefaris?"

"It's merely a toast, a wish for health and good fortune."

"Benefaris," she repeated again, allowing him to set her down on her bed. "Then what does Venhedis mean?"

He coughed, making her lie down while he tugged off her boots. "It's… ah… a curse word… I'd rather not…"

She made a dismissive motion with her hand. "That's fine."

He pulled a blanket up around her shoulders, and tried to get away before the conversation got any more uncomfortable. He got as far as the doorway when he heard the bed creak behind him. "Hey, what's a good Tevinter name for a boy cat?"

He looked over his shoulder to see her, propped up on her elbows, blinking at his distant form. His only thought was to get away as quickly as possible, so he gave the first answer that came to mind, "Felinus."

"Felinus," she repeated, nodding to herself. "I like it. Felinus. I'll see if he likes it when I get back to the clinic. Thank you, Fenris. Good night." With a bemused little smile, she laid down on the bed and closed her eyes.

Fenris stood for a long while, half in the hallway and half in her room, watching her quickly drift off to sleep, wondering why he had given her a word that simply meant 'boy cat.'


	7. Passing Through the Walls

**A/N: for any who are interested, I went back and rewrote the last chapter. It wasn't sitting well with me, either :P**

**Chapter Seven: Passing Through the Walls**

The day dawned bright and clear, a brilliant light that Hrodwynn was sure must reach all the way to the Undercity. It made her eyes water when she first stepped outside, behind Aveline and in front of Fenris. The mirror shine on Aveline's uniform didn't help, either. No matter where Hrodwynn positioned herself, there was always some little reflection off of some polished metal that flashed in her eyes. It stung and quickly became annoying, and well before they reached the gate, Hrodwynn was wishing again she had stayed in Anders' clinic.

Then she saw him standing there, waiting for their little group. Oh, sure, Hawke was nearby, deep in conversation with Varric, and Isabela saying something to Merril that made the elf's cheeks turn red and the pirate snicker. But Carver stood slightly to the side of the party, his eyes sweeping up and down the street so he was the first who spotted them. And he smiled, warmly, lifting his hand to draw their attention. It seemed like Carver was looking only at her, and for some reason, that made her heart skip a beat.

Her feet skipped, too. It was a small stutter-step, hardly enough to notice, but quickly she felt Fenris' hand on her elbow steadying her. And just as quickly it left.

"Well, that's all of us, then," Hawke declared when the three of them joined the rest. Hrodwynn shifted her pack on her shoulders and tried not to feel nervous about the sea of uniforms between them and the gates. "Shall we? Hrodwynn, you stay in the middle of the group, between Carver and Merril. These aren't the guards looking for you, but why take chances? Aveline, I think you should be up front with me, just in case the guards are disagreeable about letting us through."

Aveline sighed, "You're using my future position. Again."

Hawke laughed, gracing her with a charming smile and a slight bow. "What's the use of having a position like 'Future Captain of the Guard,' if you can't use it to your advantage? At least every now and again. But I promise, Aveline, I won't abuse your position. Much."

Aveline rolled her eyes, but she moved up next to Hawke's side. The rest of them gathered around, Fenris joining Hawke and Aveline, Varric and Isabela bringing up the rear. Hrodwynn shifted her pack again. Both Fenris and Aveline had offered to take a share of all the salves and potions—she had overpacked not knowing what they might encounter—but she insisted on carrying her own load. There was no way in the Void she was going to give Hawke an excuse to treat her like a child!

The guards at the gate let them pass with hardly a ripple of a fuss, and she felt her shoulders slump with relief as they stepped out from beneath the portcullis. The others carried on light conversations, Isabela telling Varric a story about her pirating days, Merril scoffing disbelievingly, which only encouraged Isabela to embellish more. Varric's eyes the whole time glittered with mirth, his quick mind taking in every detail of the story—and no doubt rewriting it to suit his own taste.

Hawke and Fenris talked quietly, far enough ahead that no one else heard what was spoken. Every once in a while Hawke would turn to glance at the elf, an odd sort of expression on his face, something akin to surprise or… guile? Hrodwynn didn't know, only that the look made her feel strange and want to turn away. She did see that Fenris hardly took notice, his eyes intent on scanning the countryside and seldom resting on Hawke long enough to catch these strange, brief expressions.

The morning passed uneventfully and quietly. Aveline had ranged ahead to scout the path, though what she expected to find eluded Hrodwynn. The world opened up beyond the city gates to a large and empty expanse, without buildings or alleys, only low hills and small bushes, all surmounted by a large blue sky that seemed to go on forever…

"You alright?" Carver asked. He had stayed beside her, even after Merril dropped back and the others pulled ahead. So far he had been as quiet as she, and seemingly content to remain so, mutely listening to Isabela's yarns spinning out behind them.

"Of course I am," Hrodwynn answered quickly, not wanting to draw attention to herself, especially Hawke's attention. Then, thinking Carver might be simply being nice, she asked, "You?" She risked looking up at him, saw his soft blue eyes full of care and concern, and had to offer him a smile, which he warmly returned.

"I'll admit to being a little footsore, but nothing to complain about, yet."

"We could stop at the next pond and let you soak your tired tootsies," Hawke offered, his sarcastic voice thrown over his shoulder. "Otherwise, try to push on a bit longer, would you?"

Carver didn't answer, knowing no matter how softly he said anything, his voice would carry to his brother's sharp ears. He did send an angry, resentful sort of look at his back. When he turned back to Hrodwynn, however, his expression was warm once more. "Is your pack too heavy? I could carry some of it, if you'd like."

"No," again she answered too quickly, feeling guilty as his mouth made an 'O' shape and his gaze dropped away. Immediately she tried to make recompense, touching his arm and softening her voice as she continued, "No, thank you, I can manage."

"Alright," he shrugged, and leaned closer to her so the next part of their conversation might actually stay private. "It's only that, it looks like something's bothering you. You've shifted your pack eleven times since we've started; and, yes, I've counted. I thought, if it was too heavy, I could help with that. But if it's something else…" he glanced ahead of them, seemingly looking at Hawke.

Well, she thought to herself, that sort of made sense. She didn't get along with Hawke, and she knew he'd rather Anders was here instead of her. She was also beginning to see that the two brothers truly didn't get along—she had heard of sibling rivalry, but what was between them went deeper. She also knew, that was something of which she didn't want to get in the middle.

"It's… no… I'm fine, Carver… it's just…" her voice trailed off into awkward muteness. She shrugged her shoulders and gave him a spunky smile, lifting her chin, daring him to contradict her.

He gave a small scoff but gave in, if somewhat reluctantly. "Fine. I'll quit pressuring you. But, Wynnie, if you ever want to talk, I'll listen."

Up ahead of them, though Hawke hadn't heard more than a few syllables of the conversation between Hrodwynn and Carver, Fenris had been able to make out several of the words. It brought to mind a pressing problem of his, and he figured there would never be a better time to bring it up with Hawke. "I, ah," yet again those damnable words stuck in his throat. Fenris had to force the rest of them out slightly rushed, "Need to ask you something."

Hawke heard the tone in his voice, and mistook it for embarrassment. It wasn't often that Fenris spoke, much less asked questions or initiated a conversation with him. He suppressed the triumphant smirk, cautioning himself it might not be what he was hoping—that Fenris was showing interest in him. He kept his expression open and mild as he answered, "Oh? This sounds interesting."

"I… have a problem… " The words were coming out in chunks, but at least they were coming out.

Hawke had to admit his curiosity was almost palatable. Here was Fenris, the proud, self-sufficient, self-freed slave, coming to him with a problem. Not as good as he had hoped, but still promising, still an opportunity for him to create a rapport between them. "Anything I can help with?"

"Unfortunately, I think you're the only one who can."

Hearing the dark and angry tone of voice, he realized he had forgotten to add mage-hater to the list of Fenris' attributes. Oh, this had to gall the elf, asking a mage for help, but making light of it would only alienate him. So Hawke schooled his features even tighter, and waited patiently for him to continue.

"I… can't go to Isabela or Varric; they would only make fun, of her and me."

Hawke nodded sympathetically, encouraging him to elaborate.

"Merril's too… bah!" he made a disgusted noise, making it clear how little he thought of the blood-magic user, "And Aveline's too straightforward. I'm not even sure of it, only suspect it, but if she does, then Aveline's heavy-handedness would not be welcomed. I don't want to embarrass her, only…"

"Yes, well, love to help, but I'm afraid you've lost me," he interrupted. "What is the problem?"

Fenris looked at him, at first a little surprised, then a little confused, and finally a little sheepish. A small exhale escaped his lips, like a self-directed scoff, or it might have been a cough. Hawke imagined he saw the faintest tint of a blush on his cheeks, but he refrained from pointing it out. Fenris faced forward and parted his lips again, the words slipping out a little more comprehensible this time, "I suspect Hrodwynn is developing a crush on me. I need to discourage it; a young girl like her would only get hurt, spending time with someone like me. But… I don't know how… I don't even know if she is…" The words dried up again, and he looked away, pretending to scan the area for danger.

"Ah, I think I understand," he nodded sagely. He had already seen signs of Hrodwynn's infatuation with Fenris, but knowing that Fenris saw it too, and found it unwelcome, made him feel that much more confident he could have the elf for himself. Of course, he'd have to distract the girl first. He could do that fairly easily, but it would be distasteful. Yet perhaps he could use that to his advantage, garner a favor from the elf due to the inconvenience. He didn't smile in triumph, but he did allow a knowing twitch to pull at the corner of his mouth, well hidden beneath his beard. "I think I can help, but it'll cost you."

"I'm afraid of where this is going…"

"Oh, nothing too serious. A favor for a favor, that's all I ask." He leaned in to brush his shoulder against Fenris in a manner that might have been mistaken for a misstep, only he was far too careful of the spiky armor. "And it won't be that large of a favor, I promise."

"Really?"

Hawke could imagine him narrowing his eyes, but Fenris kept his face turned away. "Really. The solution I have in mind is quite simple, but it will inconvenience me somewhat." Fenris remained looking away, so he tried another tactic. "I tell you what. I'll bet you that Hrodwynn won't be thinking of you by the time we return to Kirkwall. If she still shows infatuation, then you don't owe me the favor. Fair enough?"

At last Fenris looked back at him, suspicion still strong in that predatory gaze, but there was a willingness—a need—to trust. "Why do I feel like I'm only putting myself further and further in your debt? I manage to free myself of slavery, only to sell my life into indentured servitude. And to another mage, no less."

Hawke let the implied slur pass. He could understand Fenris' aversion towards mages—he'd have to keep Fenris and Merril separate on future occasions—and the cutting self-loathing he must be feeling, having to go to a mage for help. It would take time, probably a long time, before he could change Fenris' mind about him, but he was sure it would be worth it. "The favor I have in mind won't last longer than a day, I promise."

"What is it?"

"No, no, no," he shook his head a little flirtatiously, allowing the smile to shift his beard out of the way, "There has to be some risk on your part, or where's the fun? So, do you accept my terms?"

Fenris looked away again, but answered, "What choice to I have?" He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Very well. I accept your terms. Now, what should I do to discourage her?"

"Nothing," he said glibly.

Hawke watched him snap his head around, sure he popped a few joints in his neck with the suddenness of the movement. He looked at him from beneath ebony brows drawn down in anger, his gravely voice growing darker as he accused, "Is this some sort of trick? Or a joke? Are you mocking me?"

"No, no, calm yourself," he barely kept from flinching at the rage and hatred emanating off of Fenris like a wall of heat. He waited until the other's stance relaxed—minimally—before he explained himself. "Nothing like that at all. I only meant to say, you don't have to do anything; I'll do it."

"You'll speak to her?" he asked, cautious and more than a little disbelieving.

"I'll speak to Carver."

The incongruity of the statement served its purpose; Fenris was completely off balance. His ire evaporated like vapor, his brows scrunched in confusion. "I… I profess, I… don't understand…"

It was hard to resist the long-suffering sigh, but he did his best. "Carver has a crush on Hrodwynn—has since the first moment we met her. And yes, I am sure—he's my little brother; I've known him all his life. He's as easy to see through as water. And just as easy to manipulate." He stole a glance, and was encourage to see Fenris' expression soften minutely. "All I have to do is discourage him, or even better forbid him to spend time with her. He'll start pursuing her all the more, and I don't doubt she'll take an interest in him—someone closer to her own age—should he show an interest in her. I haven't so far simply because I know how he'll react, and though I really couldn't care whom he sleeps with, I'd rather not know about it. But once I start making any sort of protesting or discouraging noises, he'll push harder for her attentions." Hawke finally let go of the sigh, a little dramatically, but it was warranted. "Now you see why you'll owe me a favor? Carver's going to be insufferable, mooning after Hrodwynn, speaking of her constantly, creating excuses to spend time with her, bringing her along on every little errand… ugh!"

Fenris hardly registered Hawke's finishing tirade, thinking that he should have thought of this himself. He had noticed the way Carver acted around her—his little gestures and warm smiles, the clumsy touches that he tried to make seem accidental. He supposed the option hadn't occurred to him because he had been aware that Hawke didn't get along with Hrodwynn. Yet if he was willing to do this, to encourage his brother to spend time with a girl he didn't like, for his sake… "Are you sure?"

Hawke winked at him, knowing he'd just made progress in his relationship with Fenris. "Watch." He turned around suddenly, walking backwards so he could look at the two full in the face, and declared loudly, "Would you leave the poor girl alone? You're embarrassing her. If you're serious about her satchel, you can help her repack it when we make camp tonight and take some of the weight yourself. Until then, stop pestering her. You're being too obvious about it." He finished with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

Hrodwynn hadn't been expecting the abruptness of Hawke's declaration, or the way his voice easily carried down the path to them and further to the others behind. She could hear Isabela's chuckle, Varric's interested hum, and Merril's curious little oh.

She could also feel Carver tense beside her, the indignation making the muscles of his arms tremble. Before she merely hadn't wanted to get between the two brothers; now she added not wanting to be the cause of their dissension. "Carver," she said softly, taking hold of his upper arm, feeling the muscles flex beneath her touch. "Carver, please, I'm fine, it's not the pack, really, it's not too heavy, just…"

"What?" he pressed, perhaps a little too heatedly after his brother's goading.

"Hawke!" Aveline's call interrupted their conversation. She had returned to their group, or rather they had caught up to where she was waiting for them, leaning against a large boulder. The road had reached a stream, crossing it over a stone bridge. On the near side was a small grassy area just large enough for their group to sit comfortably. "I thought this might be a good place to rest for a bit, have a bite to eat and the like. Not all of us are used to marching all day on empty stomachs."

"Oh, good idea," piped up Merril. "I could do with a bite of something."

"So could I," Isabela agreed suggestively, sauntering up to the small stream and shrugging out of her pack, arching her back and thrusting her breasts out.

"Hungry already, Rivaini?" Varric chuckled, "And here I thought you would've gotten your fill last night."

"Perish the thought, Varric. Why?" she tilted her head, her eyes casting up and down the length of him. "Do you know where I can get my hands on some meat way out here?"

Aveline reached into her pack and tossed something at Isabela. It bounced off her ample bosom and landed in the grass at her feet. "This should hold you over."

Isabela bent over to pick up the dried beef. "Thanks."

The sarcasm wasn't lost on Aveline; she simply chose to ignore it. "Don't mention it."

"I won't."

"Well, seems the decision's been made," Hawke declared, only somewhat disgruntled. "And I suppose this stream would be a good place to replenish our water supply. We'll rest here for an hour, then move on. I'd like to find a good place to camp before it gets dark."

Hrodwynn gratefully slipped out of her pack, but kept a tight grip on the straps as she set it carefully on the ground. She didn't want any of the glass vials or jars to break. With the weight off her shoulders, she stretched her neck and rubbed at the soreness there, feeling the tenderness that warned her skin was red and raw. Again she thought it would have been better to have stayed in Anders' clinic, even if she would have had to remain hidden in her little loft, constantly on guard against surprise search parties.

Then Carver was there, standing over her, a timid, hopeful sort of expression on his face. In his hands was a handkerchief, dampened and cooled by the water from the stream. "Here, this should help," he held it out to her as a sort of offering.

Despite the coolness of the cloth, his hands were warm. Very warm. She felt the heat as her fingers lifted the rag from his. "Thank you," she blushed, draping the cloth around her neck.

"Would you, that is," he leaned in closer so he could speak even softer, "Would you want to walk for a bit? I know we've been walking all morning, but we could put some distance between us and the others. Just to sit and talk. Privately."

He wasn't going to drop the matter about what was causing her discomfort. She took a deep breath, but started walking with him, her eyes on the ground, not sure what to say, what the right words were that could express her feelings. "It's not the pack, Carver, really. I mean, I know it's heavy, I packed it, and I didn't know what to expect, so I probably packed way too much and too many things we won't need…"

"Fine, it's not the pack," he allowed. "But there is something bothering you, isn't there?"

They were upstream from the others, who had remained sitting comfortably on the grass. Hrodwynn glanced over her shoulder before they disappeared from view behind a small hillock. "I… maybe… perhaps… I don't know… what… to say…"

Carver swallowed, nodding as if he understood her hesitation. "It's that knife ear, isn't it? I knew we shouldn't have let you spend the night with him. What did he do? Did he hurt you? Scare you? Did he… did he touch you…?"

"What?!" she finally managed to overcome the shock regarding his vehemence and tried stop his groundless accusations. "No! Fenris didn't… do… anything. He…" The memory of taking the healing potion and her babbling through supper came back to mind. "We talked, had somewhat to eat, went to bed." She bit her lip and shut her eyes tight, trying hard not to think about his putting her to bed. He'd only taken off her boots and covered her with a blanket, completely innocent, but it didn't seem Carver would be inclined to believe such a thing. "I mean, separate beds. Separate rooms! Nothing happened. If anything, he was very nice."

"Then…" he allowed her excuse, at least where Fenris was concerned. But he knew something was wrong, and he wouldn't let it go. "Hrodwynn," he started again, paused to cup her chin and get her to look at him, "Wynnie, please, I've felt you trembling all morning, ever since we left Kirkwall. Something's the matter. What is it? Tell me, please, I want to help."

She swallowed, blinking rapidly at the sensation of her heart racing as if she was running from those mercenaries again. And she wanted to run, the impulse almost overpowering, the need to run away from something she couldn't define. It took three tries of opening her mouth before she could manage to make sounds, and a couple more tries before they would form words. "Sky… grass… hills… go on… forever… no walls… no streets… open… no cover… no people!" She hiccoughed, trying to pull all the emotion back inside, but it was no use. In a final blurb, she moaned, "It's so empty out here!"

Carver was shocked into stillness for almost three seconds, never having imagined anyone would go through what she was feeling. Then he pulled her to his chest, his arms wrapped around her protectively. "I think I understand," he spoke gently. "You've never been outside Kirkwall before, have you?" She shook her head, her cheek rubbing against the lacings on his vest, her hair catching in a buckle. He pulled the strands free before they could tug at her scalp, then left his hand in place, stroking through her short locks.

"No. Never. At least, not that I remember." She bit her lip, trying to stop the chattering, but it was no use. Once started, the words couldn't stop. "Why does it go on forever?"

"What?" he was slightly perplexed at her question.

"The sky," she pulled back slightly to look up at him. "It's way, way, up there. And it reaches all the way around like… like… like some monstrous awning that's gonna fall on us and… and we'll be trapped and suffocate and…"

He wanted to laugh, but he knew that would upset her more. "It's not an awning," he reassured her. "And it's not going to fall. Think of it as a ceiling, one that's too high for you to reach. You should be used to that, having things out of your reach, being so short and all."

She knew he was teasing her, and wanted to slug him for it, but instead had to duck her head to hide the giggle. "That's not funny."

"I'm sorry for teasing you," he apologized. "But, truthfully, the sky isn't going anywhere. And as for the emptiness, look around. No, really," he held her shoulders and pushed her back from him, just enough so she could see something other than his chest. "Anytime you start feeling overwhelmed, I want you to look around. There are hills nearby. Mountains further off, like the one we're headed towards. And there are trees and bushes. Lots of rocks. And animals. Loads of birds, and rabbits, and foxes, and…" he paused to swat at something biting his neck, "…insects."

This time she let him see the giggle.

"Feeling better?"

She nodded. "Yes, I do. Thank you, Carver." She reached up on tiptoe and planted a quick kiss on his cheek.

"For calming your fears?" he wondered aloud, his hands back to her shoulders, keeping her from slipping away.

"That too, but mostly for making me talk when I didn't want to. And for understanding, and not making fun of me."

"In all fairness, I did make fun of you, just a little."

"Yes, you did," her eyes narrowed dangerously, "And I'm gonna make you pay for that. Later. For now, I think we should get back to the others, while we still have time to eat something before we have to start marching again."

He pulled a small packet out of a pouch on his belt. "Or we could eat right here," he offered, unwrapping it to reveal the wedge of cheese. "Not much, I know, but you don't really want to do a lot of walking on a full stomach."

"This is fine." She sat down on the ground next to him, sharing the cheese as he pointed out all the things to look at, all the things that filled up the emptiness, so she wouldn't feel quite so uncomfortable.

"You know, you could talk with Merril," Carver offered after they were finished eating. "She has kind of the same problem, but opposite. She's lived all her life out in the countryside, and moving to a crowded city with lots of buildings and very few trees upsets her as much as the open countryside upsets you."

Hrodwynn looked up at him, a curious little smile on her face. "I think I will do that, when we get back to Kirkwall. Right now," she stood up and dusted off her backside, "We should go before your brother leaves us behind."

"There's time yet," he stalled, jumping up to move between her and the road. He really didn't want to go back there, not yet, not while they had had such a good conversation, and were relatively alone. The bright sunlight set her hair aflame with deep red streaks, like strings of rubies falling through the strands. He pulled his fingers through the locks, enjoying the feel of the short, soft hairs.

Hrodwynn swallowed, not sure what she was feeling, not sure what he was doing, but knowing it was making her heart beat faster again, though in a much more agreeable way than before. He tilted his head and bent his neck, lowering his face towards hers. She kept still, paralyzed by uncertainty, as her mind raced with one thought: oh, bloody Void, he's going to kiss me…

His lips touched hers, sending her eyelids crashing closed, choking her breath in her throat. It was… pleasant, and warm, and new, and frightening, and exciting, and…

"Here you are!" Hawke's caustic voice was far too loud and close, making them start guiltily away from each other. "So glad you didn't fall into the stream and drown, or get yourselves carried off by ravenous werewolves."

Carver clenched the fist at his side, and the hand on her shoulder tightened fractionally. He turned his head far enough to see his brother striding towards them. "Garrett…"

"If the two of you are done snogging, do you think we could get going? I'd like to get as far as we can today, so there's less traveling to do tomorrow. Don't know what we'll find at the mine, but it would be best not to be too tired out from the trek."

"We weren't snogging, we were…"

"Don't even try, Junior," Varric advised as he came up beside Hawke, his crossbow at the ready, obviously having expected danger when the two of them hadn't returned to the clearing. He had a hard time suppressing a smile as he rehung his crossbow down his back. "It wouldn't be very convincing, not with the looks on your faces."

Carver set his jaw, hating the knowing winks they were giving him. He took her hand and started back towards the road. "Come on, Wynnie, let's go get our packs and leave these dirty-minded busybodies to themselves."

Hrodwynn had to almost run to keep up with his long strides, but she was as willing as he to leave the smirking Hawke and chuckling Varric behind them. Back at the clearing, the others were milling around, packs and weapons at the ready. Carver helped Hrodwynn into her pack before grabbing his.

"Everyone set? Good. Let's move out. Carver, why don't you scout ahead this afternoon? See if you can find a nice place for us to make camp."

It wasn't a suggestion, it was an order, one that Carver couldn't refuse. He thought about taking Hrodwynn with him, but knew that would be a bad idea, especially if they came across any trouble. He gave a surly nod and started off at a jog to get ahead of everyone.

The rest fell back into their earlier subgroups, with Aveline taking Carver's position beside Hrodwynn and walking along in comfortable silence. Fenris had watched Carver head off before turning to look at Hawke, who gave him a cheeky wink. "Like I said, you didn't have to do a thing."

* * *

><p>"And there are so many buildings," Merril was chattering pleasantly at Hrodwynn's elbow, "They seem to go on forever. Like I'm in some sort of maze, and I'll never be able to find my way out again. At least, I had been feeling that way, until Varric gave me that ball of yarn."<p>

Hrodwynn thought she had to be joking this time, but Varric called out a, "You're welcome," from the other side of the campfire that made her reconsider.

Carver had found a copse of trees, hidden from the road behind a low hill, that made a perfect campsite. So perfect, in fact, that it showed evidence of having been used before. Not too recently, however, nor too often to put Hawke off the idea of using it for the night. Hrodwynn had watched with amazement while the others quickly set up camp, each seeming to know what they needed to do, even though she was fairly sure they had never camped together before. When they were finished—partly to make up for her lack of help earlier—she had volunteered to cook supper.

Now they sat around the fire, talking, trading stories, and subtly arguing over who would clean the dishes stacking up beside the wash bucket. "That's kind of how I feel about this," Hrodwynn admitted, glad that she had taken Carver's advice and started the conversation with the Dalish elf. It felt good to open up to someone, to share—even a little bit—of her private thoughts and fears. "I've never been outside the city before, at least that I can remember, and seeing all this, well, openness, gives me the jitters. I mean, where are all the buildings? Where do the people live?"

"Oh, well, my people, the Dalish, we live where we please. Travel in aravels pulled by halla."

Hrodwynn shot her an amused smile. "That made absolutely no sense, other than the live-where-you-please part. But what about the other people?"

"What other people?"

Hrodwynn blinked, unsure how to explain.

"The humans live in their towns and cities," Merril continued without skipping a beat. "The dwarves mostly live underground in their own cities. A few live up here on the surface, like Varric."

"I'm glad I wasn't forgotten," he deadpanned.

"The other elves, well, they generally live in the cities, too, in places like the Alienage. If they're not servants or slaves, that is. Then they live in their master's house."

"But," she tried to get the subject back on track. Fenris was talking quietly with Isabela, and Hrodwynn noted the dark look he shot at Merril when she spoke of servants and slaves. "But where do the people live out here? Where there aren't any houses."

"Oh. They don't," Merril admitted matter-of-factly. "If you don't see a city or a town with farmland around it, or a clan of Dalish, then there are no people living in this area of the countryside."

Hrodwynn felt a little shudder at those words, imagining all the emptiness. No, not empty of everything, merely empty of people. She forced herself to look around them. Like Carver said, there were other things here to fill the space. And at this moment they were camped within a sort of room made from the tightly packed trees, the branches spreading overhead to almost block out the night. And the sky was only a big ceiling, and ceilings didn't fall on you.

"You alright?" Merril asked, setting her hand on her shoulder.

"Yes!" she pulled her eyes down from the irregular opening through the branches. She saw Merril looking at her with sympathetic eyes and gave her a bright smile in return. "Yes, I'm fine, just a little… I don't know…"

"I understand," Merril nodded.

"You know," added Varric, settling himself on her other side after dropping his plate off by the bucket, "A lot of dwarves feel the same way, the first time they come up to the surface. They take one look at that sky, and start to feel like they're going to fall up into it."

"Wonderful," Hawke said drolly, stacking his plate with Varric's, mutely stating he wasn't going to do the washing up either, "Give her another anxiety."

"Only trying to help. They do say misery loves company."

"No, that's alright, Varric. I appreciate the thought." She gave a nervous sort of titter. "Actually, I don't feel so much like I'm going to fall up into it, as it's going to fall down onto me."

"Why would it fall?" asked Merril.

"Well, because. What's holding it up?" returned Hrodwynn.

"Nothing. Nothing's holding it up."

Hrodwynn stared at her for a long moment, the firelight flickering over their profiles. "Yup, not helping."

"Don't worry, Button," Varric said soothingly, "Even if the sky falls, you and me will be just fine. We're short enough, it'll hit everyone else on the head first."

She let the giggle out this time, unable to help herself, imagining the big blue plane smacking Hawke in the head, the big-headed arse able to prop it up all on his own. Then another thought occurred to her, and she had to ask, "…Button…?"

"Yes, Button, as in 'cute as a…' Not as good as 'Kitten,' but it'll do. At least you and Merril won't get confused over who's who. Well," he leaned in close to whisper for her ears only, "Merril won't get confused. Never worried about you for a moment."

"Hah!" declared Isabela triumphantly, backhanding Fenris on his chest. "I won! Pay up."

"I'll pay," Fenris groused, or he might not have groused, it was hard for anyone to tell the way his voice was always so deep and vexed. "The next time I have the coin, that is."

"Bah, I knew I should never make a bet with an elf."

"What bet?" Hawke asked, wondering if he should fish around for the coin to cover Fenris' debt, or if the offering would insult the proud elf.

"I bet Fenris that I could get Varric to change his nickname for Hrodwynn. He did. Now Fenris owes me three silvers. And I have all of you for witnesses."

"I'm good for it."

"Of course you are, love," Isabela leaned against his arm, mindful of the spikes. "A woman like me, just wants to have a little extra insurance. You understand." She cocked her head, a wicked smile spreading her pouty lips. "I tell you what, I'll make a new bet with you: that I can guess the color of your underpants before we get back to Kirkwall. Double or nothing."

"Deal," he said quickly, almost too quickly. "But you can't guess a color like 'green;' you have to be specific, as in 'chartreuse'."

"Fine," she readily agreed, "Chartreuse?"

"No."

"Mint?"

"No."

"Lime?"

"No."

"Celadon?"

"No."

"Is it even in the green family of colors?"

"No hints."

Hawke cleared his throat loudly.

"So, Hrodwynn," Varric talked a little louder to cover up the guessing game, "You finally cracked a Siggerdson, huh?"

"Ah…" she glanced nervously at Aveline, who was trying not to look like she could hear. "You know it wasn't me, Varric. You said I was with you all day yesterday."

He laughed, clapping her on the shoulder, as Merril moved away to start washing up. "That I did. Still, whoever did it, they would have quite a reputation now, wouldn't they?"

"Oh, yes," she smiled broadly, nodding and catching on, "That would be the reason to risk it, wouldn't it? I mean, I know I would like to have that sort of reputation, being one of the few people who could crack a Siggerdson. It was the reason I joined up with you on Fenris' job, because there was supposed to be one involved. Still, it's not something one can talk about, is it, or people will think you're just making it up."

"Exactly," agreed Varric. "You have to go carefully when building a reputation. You can't spread it yourself, or you appear a braggart. But if it gets out that a Siggerdson was broken into, by some mysterious person, whose physical description might sort of resemble you…"

Hrodwynn blushed. "Amazing how even in broad daylight, no one got a clear enough look at her, did they."

"Careful, Button," Varric hummed, "You're almost bragging."

There were several sputters of laughter around the campfire, and a loud cough from Aveline's direction.

"Hrodwynn," Merril knelt in front of the bucket, talking while happily scrubbing away at the remains of supper, "I've been meaning to talk with you, get to know you a little better. You sit and listen to the stories we tell, but we hardly know anything about you. For instance, I know you're staying in Anders' clinic, but he's not family, is he?"

She shook her head. "No, I met Anders last winter, while looking for a warm place to spend the night."

"See? That's it exactly. You've hardly talked about yourself, where you come from, do you have any family, things like that."

She shrugged, dropping her gaze to the fire, uncomfortable with the thought that everyone was looking at her, waiting for her to speak. Even Isabela and Fenris had paused their game to listen. "I'm pretty much what you see. A young woman. Good at picking locks. And staying in Anders' clinic, I've learned a little about healing, too. Not much else to know."

"But," Merril was oblivious to the suggestive stare Hawke was giving her, or Varric's uncomfortable shifting as he tried to think of a topic to interrupt them. "But, don't you have family? Parents?"

She pursed her lips a moment before answering. "Suppose so. At some point. Must've, right?"

"Don't you remember them? Oh, did they die?" she asked quietly, her voice compassionate as she paused in her scrubbing to give the girl her full attention.

Hrodwynn drew one knee up to her chin, resting her cheek on it as she spoke to the flames. "I don't know," she admitted softly. "I… I can't remember."

Merril set aside the last plate and said softly, "Oh, you poor thing. What happened? I mean, what can you remember?"

She tried hard to ignore the burning sensation behind her eyes, not wanting to cry in front of the others or they'd think she was just a child. "I…" her voice was raspy, and she had to give a little cough to clear her throat before she could answer. "I don't remember anything before a few years ago. The first memory I have, I'm lying on some wooden boards, and my head hurts, and it's bleeding. There's shouting behind me, and I remember feeling afraid but I can't remember why." She gave another shrug, "And then I was running. Just… running, trying to get away from the shouting, from the fear, trying to find a place to hide. Guess I must've fallen or jumped off of a ship, and hit my head when I landed on the docks.

"I stopped running somewhere in Lowtown," she continued, not really knowing why. Maybe it was like her fear of the openness, that talking about it—sharing it with someone—made her feel better, "Next to a merchant's shop. Owned by a nice lady, Margret, a Ferelden. She saw me trying to keep warm, curled up on her stoop. She took me in, bandaged my head, gave me some food, and a name when I couldn't remember mine. She even tried teaching me her trade. Only she was old, and died a few months later. She said she was going to leave me some money, but after her death her son came and said there was nothing for me, and I had to leave, unless I wanted to become his 'special assistant'."

Isabela's eyes grew dark and dangerous, one hand itching to stray to the handle of her dagger. But it was Aveline who spoke, her words more a statement than a question. "So you headed to Darktown."

Hrodwynn nodded, "Had to. No place else to go. And I hadn't made any friends, besides Margret. I taught myself how to pick pockets, and locks, and pick up any extra coin that others didn't want or were too rich to remember they had. Never stole from anyone who needed the coin themselves. Moved around the city a lot, until I met Anders and decided he needed me to look after him. It works out alright between us: he keeps a roof over my head, and I make sure he remembers to eat once in a while."

"This merchant fellow," Isabela asked, not wanting to let that part of the story slip past, "Is he still around? I'd like to pay him a visit!"

"He's gone," she sighed, "Spent all his profits on drinking and gambling, and when the Blight hit, he didn't have anything left to see him through the slump in business. I think he ended up getting rolled in a back alley, his throat slit by people he owed money to."

"Not satisfying," she growled low, "But fitting enough, I suppose."

"So, that's why you took a Coterie job," inferred Varric, "Because it was at the Harbormaster's Office. Hoping to find a clue to your past, or the ship you fell from, or something?"

She nodded. "Stupid, really. The safe was full of papers, but I couldn't read them. I mean," she looked up at Aveline, her eyes wide, suddenly realizing what she had confessed to, "Ah, that is, I didn't…"

Aveline sighed. "Never mind, Hrodwynn. Tell you what: I can look into this for you, if you want. When did you arrive in Kirkwall? Before the Blight, you said?"

"Yes. About four years before."

"When we get back to Kirkwall, I'll take a look through the records at the Viscount's Keep, see if I can find any reference to a missing person from around that time, someone who matches your description."

"Thank you, Aveline." New tears were trying to form, stinging her eyes for new reasons. Here was a woman, from a different side of the city—a different side of the law!—who was willing to help her, knowing she would receive no personal gain. This was not the sort of person she was used to dealing with, and it left her feeling hopeful, like maybe she just might find out something about herself.

"I just need to know about how old you were when you arrived. Any idea?"

"What?" she asked, that slim shimmer of hope fading quickly.

"How old are you? If you arrived in Kirkwall, say around 9:26, that would make it five years ago. If you're twenty now, that would put you about fifteen then, so I'd know to look for a missing young woman. But if you're only fifteen now, then you would've been ten back then, and I should look for reports of a missing child."

"I… I don't know my age."

"You must have some idea," Aveline pressed on doggedly, not seeing the tears forming. "I'd guess you're young, still growing, as you're taller than a dwarf but shorter than an elf, though not by much. Fenris can just see over the top of your head, but he's tall for an elf. So, how about it? Are you still growing? Or are you just short for a human?"

Hrodwynn was silent, unsure how to answer.

"Let's try something different," Isabela offered, but Hrodwynn got the feeling this wasn't going to be much better. "Something a little more definitive. You've been getting monthly visits, haven't you?"

"Maker!" Hawke swore, "Do you have to bring that up?" He looked directly at his brother before adding, "And you wonder why I prefer men."

Hrodwynn buried her face in her hands, unable to believe that the heat from her cheeks wasn't burning her skin.

"Well," Isabela prodded, and got a nod in response. "For how long, now?"

"Two years." Her voice was small, barely carrying far enough to be heard over the crackling of the campfire.

"Hmm," she tapped the stud through the skin beneath her lower lip, "That would make you, oh, about fourteen or fifteen. There you are, Aveline. Look for records of a missing girl, around nine or ten, from the year 9:26. And Hrodwynn," she waited until the girl dared to peek between her fingers. Then she lifted her water skin in salute, "Happy fifteenth birthday!"

"Happy birthday!" Carver quickly followed suit, as did the others.

Hrodwynn risked a timid smile, still feeling the heat of embarrassment, but not so badly as before. These really were nice people, if a little bit of a strange mixture of rogues and soldiers, beggars and nobles. Most importantly, however, wasn't the fact that they were so diverse, as the fact that they accepted her. Even Hawke, taking a deep swallow in her honor, seemed to have set aside some of his arrogant disdain for her.

And when her eyes slipped to Carver, the heat returned, though in a strangely enjoyable way.

**A/N: there, a little bit of the mystery behind Hrodwynn has been cleared up. (What, you expected a full reveal? Where's the fun in that?)**

**I had to, just had to put in the guessing game between Isabela and Fenris. It was too damn funny. And reminded me too much of the old Xanth novels… (Yes, I know, I give some obscure references from time to time; get used to it.)**

**Just in case you didn't catch it, or don't suffer from it yourself, Hrodwynn was experiencing a mild attack of agoraphobia. I figured, being that it was her first time ever beyond the walls of Kirkwall, it called for a little something, and agoraphobia is a condition I deal with—though thankfully not to a debilitating extent. I kept her reaction mild, too, because I don't want her to actually start suffering from the phobia. So much yet to do in this story, she doesn't need that!**

**But, personally, I do so get the dwarves and their fear of falling upwards into the sky :'D**


End file.
